


Go Home, Omega

by goobzoop



Series: Criminal Minds Omegaverse (Separate Stories) [4]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alpha Hotch is God, Alpha!Hotch, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bully!Aaron, Cute Profiler Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Goddamn I love ABO so much, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Omega Reid is the Most Adorable Thing to Walk This Earth, Omegaverse, Only One Bed, Present Tense, Rutting, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Slow Burn, Smut, Softboy!Spencer, Some violence from cases, Undercover as a Couple, looooove, omega!Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25776196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobzoop/pseuds/goobzoop
Summary: **Updeeted and finished**Step right up kids, we got mean Alpha Hotch, Omega softboi Reid, we got enemies to lovers, we got undercover couple, only one bed, slow burn, and moreee~Pretty much Hotch is bigoted about Omegas and Reid is let on the team cause he's a genius, which Hotch hates, but then Reid learns to stand up for himself cause he's super kickass and sweet and deserves the world.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Series: Criminal Minds Omegaverse (Separate Stories) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754338
Comments: 117
Kudos: 478
Collections: Alphabet Soup, Why Hello There Significant Other of Mine





	1. I Don't Care if You Don't Like It

**Author's Note:**

> JJ's POV for only one paragraph at the beginning, then it's just ya boys.
> 
> I have the entire thing written out already so my updates are gonna be pretty quick

JJ rounds the corner leading to Hotch’s office and takes a deep breath before walking in. She sets a manilla folder down on his desk before mentally preparing herself for the conversation to come. As one of the only Betas in the department, sometimes she has to gather herself together and force herself to be braver than she is. 

“What’s this, a new case?” Hotch asks without looking up from his paperwork. 

“No. It’s from Strauss. A new recruit.”

That gets his attention. He looks up. “What for? The team is full.”

JJ tries to keep her feet from shifting underneath her; Hotch’s stare is intense and certainly lives up to its reputation. 

“It’s not _just_ a new recruit. He’s a genius. Strauss made an exception.” JJ looks away. “...In more ways than one.”

“What does that mean? Be straightforward, JJ.”

“He’s… young.” 

“How young?” His eyes are back on the case report in front of him. 

“Twenty-four,” She says, “And…”

“I have a lot of work to finish here,” he sighs. She can tell he’s getting impatient. She curses her Beta instincts to soften the blow, and forces herself to get it out like Morgan or Prentiss would. 

“He’s an Omega.”

Hotch drops his pen and stares at her. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“An Omega, Sir.” She scratches the back of her neck and holds his gaze. Those eyes are more steely than ever. She had a hunch he wasn’t going to take this well and she was right. 

“No. Absolutely not. We will not have an Omega on the team. Take this back to Strauss,” He growls. 

JJ looks at him, startled. “Hotch, I can’t—” she stutters, “You know I can’t do that.” 

“Yes, you can, and you will. Now take this back to Strauss.” He slides the folder back towards her. 

“You didn’t even read it,” she says, stalling. 

“I don’t need to. It’s an Omega. That’s all I need to know.”

“ _He,_ Hotch, and he’s already here...” 

Hotch stops what he’s doing and stands up. With a cold look plastered on his face, he disregards JJ and storms out of the room, undoubtedly heading up to Stauss’s office. Hotch is headstrong and unyielding at the best of times, so he certainly isn’t going to let this go without a fight. 

JJ tails behind him. She watches him barge into her office and everyone in the room goes silent; he has the kind of authority that people pick up on instantly. He isn't Unit Chief of the most prestigious and dangerous branch of the FBI for no reason. 

Whoever is in the office scuffles out and Strauss regards him with an equally cold stare. She was expecting him. She isn’t the Secition Cheif for no reason, either; she’s a _very_ powerful Alpha.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Hotch demands. He throws the folder on her desk, and the papers are sent flying about.

“He’ll make an excellent addition to the team,” Strauss says, sitting down, “I don't care if you don’t like it.”

“Don’t _like_ it? Erin, this is _unthinkable_. I won’t have an Omega on my team.” 

“It’s not optional. In fact, Rossi is showing him around right now.”

“Don’t be insane, Erin. There hasn’t been an Omega on the force in decades. We don’t hire them for a reason: they can’t handle it. And they’re a distraction. I won’t let my team be compromised because they have to endure the smell of Omega while they’re out in the field.” 

“Like I said, it’s not open for debate. You can work with him, or you can find another unit to work for.” She stares straight at him, daring him to make a move. “What do you say, should I get you a transfer form?”

Hotch seethes in his place across from her desk. His eyes are glowing red and his fists are balled so tight they could bend steel clean in half. 

“I asked you a question,” she smirks. 

“This isn't over,” he growls, “Just wait until someone gets hurt because of this Omega. It’s only a matter of time. You’d better pray to God it doesn’t get anyone killed.”

“Shut the door on your way out, Agent Hotchner.” 

He slams it.

. . . 

Hotch goes out of his way to ignore the looming presence of an Omega on the floor. He can smell the scent of something sweet and he knows it's around there somewhere, so he doesn't go anywhere the scent gets strong. It’s like a backwards game of marco-polo that Hotch doesn’t intend to lose.

The BAU has run smoothly for years. The most controversial thing to have happened was bringing on a Beta, but that wasn’t exactly taboo, just uncommon, and she didn’t disrupt anything so much as she blended into the background. Working with a Beta could be a minor annoyance, but also an asset because she brought a subtlety that certain Alphas lacked. He had to hand it to JJ; she knew how to bridge the gap between the FBI and local law enforcement agencies without ruffling any feathers. 

But that’s a Beta. Betas are like warm milk. This is an _Omega._ Omegas are like viagra. 

He didn’t need his team coming to work with their heads full of sweet scent and the urge to mate.

Alphas can control themselves, sure, they aren’t animals, but why put them in that position in the first place? 

Just keep the Omega at home where it belongs.

. . . 

He sees the Omega before he smells it because he’s looking out his office window into the bullpen where Rossi has him shaking everyone’s hands. Or not, Hotch notices— the Omega isn’t touching anyone, even though they love to touch.

Soon Rossi is just outside of his office door with it and they’re coming inside. That’s when he really smells the thing for the first time and it’s exactly what he feared. He smells intoxicatingly sweet to the point where his head is spinning and he can practically taste the serotonin pumping into his system. Instead of making him fall over him with smiles and hearts in his eyes, it only makes him hate it all the more. He doesn’t offer to shake its hand and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Rossi already knows that Hotch isn’t privy to the idea that an Omega is joining the team, but the Omega is just learning it for the first time. Hotch expects tears, and who knows, maybe that would be grounds enough to fire him? Just a little emotional outburst, that’s all he needs to prove his point. 

The Omega doesn’t cry when it notices, though, and Hotch can tell the exact moment that it does, because the micro expression of disgust passes quickly across its face like lightning. 

“This is Agent Reid,” Rossi is saying, “Reid, this is Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. He’s Unit Chief.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” it says stiffly, as if rehearsed. _Pleasure_. Even its words are Omegan. 

Hotch doesn’t bother to respond. He just stares back and he knows it’s extremely rude but he’s never been one to care about other people’s comfort and he isn’t about to start now. He’s going to tolerate it for as long as he has to before he can find a reason to dismiss it. 

The room is filling up fast with everyone’s emotions; it’s nearly palpable. Hotch is letting off these borderline electric vibes that coat the air with anger. The Omega is sending off thickly sweet wafts of anxious nerves and Rossi is kind of muted, but radiating disdain nonetheless. 

Rossi has the good sense to usher Reid out of the room before Hotch loses his cool. 

Hotch _doesn’t_ lose his cool, at least not in the way that Rossi expects. Underneath the anger he’s insanely turned on. He starts to spiral at the memory of the Omega’s scent as soon as they leave the room. His chest is feeling tight and it’s hard to breathe without letting out these halfway feral growls that he hasn’t heard since he started to control his ruts like a civilized Alpha. The realization of what’s happening to him only enforces how right he thinks he is about the whole Omega situation.

He has to draw the blinds, and spends the rest of the morning in his office trying to calm down. Everyone on the team probably has an idea of what’s going on up there, but there isn’t much that he can do at the moment, and he decides that they’re all probably going through a similar variation of what he’s experiencing. Everyone on the team is Alpha except for JJ. 

When he finally does get a hold of himself, he’s tightening his tie and taking a few grounding breaths, feeling less level-headed than he has in years.

. . . . . . 

Reid doubts himself for doing what he’s doing. He’s got it in his head that Omegas belong at home, but that’s only because that’s what society has forced down his throat for the last 24 years of his marginalized life.

It’s not _right_ for an Omega to attend college. It’s not _right_ for one to build a career. 

Reid never did what was right, though. If he didn’t know any better he’d say he has two left feet. He’s so far from the norm that the rules don’t apply. 

That’s not completely true, though, because _biology_ still applies, of that he’s certain. But he’s the proud owner of not only one, but three phDs, and on top of that three BAs, and an IQ of 187, so biology can kiss his butt. 

He’s not implying that Omega’s aren't smart, not at all, he knows better than that, but academically he’s leagues above everyone; Alphas, Betas, and Omegas alike. That particular fact tends to open doors that would otherwise be deadbolted shut. 

Like the FBI. 

And again, he’s not even sure he wants to walk through that door, but he’s been given the opportunity and he owes it to Omegas everywhere to make a name for himself. 

He doesn’t expect the FBI to smile back at him. He doesn’t even expect it to look, but that doesn’t stop the overwhelming anxiety he feels as he walks through Quantico’s doors for the first time and smells more Alpha than he ever has in his entire life. It’s concentrated like a thick sludge and he doesn’t like it all that much. His nose twitches and without realizing it, he’s stopped breathing just so the Alpha would _stop_. He wants muted Betas, the calming scent of other Omegas, and the nondescript smell of empty libraries. 

There’s only one Beta that he can find and he clings onto her for dear life. By some stroke of luck she’s on his team: it’s the first time Spencer ever considered himself to be truly lucky. 

“You’ll get used to it. Some days I don’t even notice,” She says when she sees the way his nose is scrunched up and it looks like someone punched him in the gut. 

He laughs, because that’s right, he works with _profilers_ now, and assuming anything he thinks is private anymore is a joke. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to _this_ ,” he states, “Omegas are more in-tune with Alpha smell. It’s been found that our sense of smell is 75% more accurate when it comes to Alpha pheromones, and the same applies in inverse. This place reeks.”

“Wow, 75%? And I thought I had it rough,” she laughs. Reid likes her laugh; it’s disarming and he wants to make her do it again. He figures if a statistic did it once, it's a good bet as any, so he rattles off all the relevant research he knows about Omega and Alpha scenting. He’s rewarded nicely for it. 

An Alpha approaches the two of them while they’re sitting in the conference room, and he doesn’t show any outward aggression which puts Reid at ease. He introduces himself as Rossi, and Reid makes the connection that it’s _David Rossi, famous Crime Novelist and long standing member of the FBI._ He wasn't sure if Rossi was still at the BAU and it’s a very welcome surprise, especially because of the way he’s treating him— Like he’s an equal. He doesn’t get that very often.

Rossi entertains all of his questions and gives him extensive, well thought out answers. He also has a few questions of his own and seems pretty impressed with all the achievements Reid has made. 

“Come on, Kid, it’s time I showed you around, and there’s some people I want you to meet.”

It takes a conscious effort to squash his nerves, but he makes himself brave and follows Rossi down into the bullpen.

First, there’s Emily. She’s all sly like she knows something you don’t. Her eyes are dark and radiating power. She’s got the kind of scent that makes you picture dark cathedrals and a shiny metal revolver. It’s confusing and strong and Reid doesn’t find it attractive, just strong. 

Garcia is marginally better but she still has this certain smell that Reid finds off putting like supercharged voltage or what he assumes raw electricity smells like. The part that makes it marginally better is the part that smells like cupcakes and syrup and icecream and everything delicious. He smiles at her because of this. 

Morgan is okay, too, he’s probably the least off putting, but also he’s the least alluring. It’s neutral. He’s not a Beta, not by far, he can tell that much from the way he holds himself, but he doesn’t have the kind of stink that makes Reid want to hold his breath. It’s like the smell of sawdust and basket balls which he thinks are okay but nothing special. 

He _does_ call him Pretty Boy, and he winces the first time he hears it, but then he hears him call Garcia Baby Girl, love muffin, and sweet thing, and he lets it go because it’s clearly not a jab at him being Omega. 

Then he meets the Unit Chief and that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms. 

The Unit Chief smells like pure unadulterated sex like he’s never smelled before. The thought briefly crosses his mind that if he met someone like the Unit Chief before he got all his degrees, he might be at home with a couple of pups running around right now. The thought is disturbing and he banishes it to the back of his mind with all the other thoughts that he doesn’t let himself indulge in. 

Hotch doesn’t look at him and he clearly isn’t smelling him the same way. He doesn’t even respond when he manages to choke out some formal type of greeting (honestly he can hardly think with his scent filling the air and he isn’t too sure _what_ he said) but he does remember the way Hotch looked at him when they finally made eye contact and then there was just _rage_ because of course the one person that smells like a dildo factory crashed into a lube factory looks like he wants to rip his eyes out and feed them to the wolves. 

Hotch doesn’t respect him. 

It stings much more than it usually does. (and he’s gotten very good at not feeling the sting) He’s buzzing with anxiety and feeling like his Unit Chief is going to kill him right there on the spot. 

Rossi drags him out of the office before Hotch blows his lid. Reid is nearly choking on his nerves.

He goes home for the day without running into Hotch again. That’s more than fine by him. He could go his entire life without ever smelling that man again because it’s painful and embarrassing to want someone you know you shouldn’t. 

Plus he's not the kind of Omega that drools over every Alpha he sees. He swears he isn’t. 

Hotch wouldn’t know that, though, and that’s why he can never find out just how much he wants to bury his nose in his neck and never leave. 

At home, Reid goes online despite how much he loathes his computer and searches up a quick fix solution to changing the way you react to a sent but there’s not one solid piece of data that suggests it’s possible. 

He goes to sleep by eight p.m. and if he dreams about his Unit Chief he doesn’t tell a soul.

. . . . . . 

When Reid doesn’t pass the firearms exams it doesn’t surprise Hotch. If anything, he revels in the knowledge that Reid was too weak to fire a gun efficiently.

The firearms director tries to assign Hotch the responsibility of training it but he declines. He doesn’t think he could get that close to Reid without going into a rut. The thought is sour in his mind; he doesn’t appreciate the way the Omega makes him feel. He’s trying to figure out a way to ignore it, but all he's come up with is keeping his distance. That, and masking everything in anger, which isn’t that difficult seeing as he’s been non-stop angry ever since Reid showed up. 

JJ comes to him on Monday morning with a case in hand and he looks through it briefly before barking ‘Wheels up in 30’. 

He’s standing at the tarmac with Rossi discussing the feasibility of the killer having an accomplice when the sugary sweet scent of Reid invades his nostrils and he’s immediately struggling to calm himself down. 

He’s been so efficient at ignoring Reid that he almost forgot he was here. Almost, but not really. It’s waking up with his gobag in hand and the rush of the jet propellers sending it hair flying all about its face. It’s like a hurricane outside the way its scent is swirling around the jet in every direction. 

Hotch is coughing like a maniac as Reid sets his bag down and starts chatting with JJ. Everyone is waiting for the pilot to unlatch the door. 

The anger in Hotch’s chest is welling up again because Reid is going to set him off any minute and it’s not _his_ fault. It’s the _Omega’s_ fault. There’s no possible way he can fly in an enclosed space with it for several hours, and he briefly wonders why no one else is batting an eye at Reid standing there, but he brushes it aside because the pilot is ushering them inside and he has to stop him from getting on. 

He lets everyone pass and board until the only one left standing outside is Reid and he stares it down with an icy cold glare. His heart is pounding in his chest and something about the way Reid looks scared under his gaze gives him a sick sort of satisfaction. Reid comes forward anyway with his bag clutched in his hand. Hotch bites the bullet and touches it for the first time; he’s sticking out his hand and pushing it back in one quick motion. Reid is looking more scared than ever. 

“Not you,” Hotch barks. 

“You can’t do that,” Reid says with his eyes on the ground. 

“Go back to the office. The field is too dangerous for you. You can go fill out paperwork.” 

Reid scoffs, but he still doesn’t meet his gaze, “I didn’t sign up to be a desk monkey.” 

“You’ll be what I tell you to be, Omega,” Hotch spits. He's done having this conversation. He’s done standing there smelling Reid. He can’t handle it anymore. His anger is strong but his arousal is getting stronger with every passing second and soon the smell is going to overpower it and it’ll _know._

“No, I won’t! I didn’t come here to be treated like this!” it shouts above the whirring of the propellers. That’s some nerve for an Omega, Hotch thinks. 

“You’re _not_ coming, Reid. Go back to the office NOW,” he growls in a deep authoritative tone.

It’s an order. 

It’s an order and Reid can’t help but obey. Hotch watches the way its shoulders shake and its head tips lower and Hotch _likes_ it. Reid is trying his hardest to stand up to him and he’s reduced it to a quivering mess with one simple command. 

Reid doesn’t say anything else. He just grabs his bag from the ground and turns away, going back to the office like Hotch told him to. The sugary sweet scent dissipates and Hotch lets out a deep breath. Now there’s only resentment and disappointment in the air, both of which Hotch prefers to the smell of sex. 

Everyone is staring at him as he enters the jet but no one says a word. They’re either scared of him or completely shocked. He sits down and straps on his seatbelt before opening up his copy of the case file and waits for the jet to take off.

“Come on now, that was uncalled for, Hotch,” Morgan, ever the saviour, directs at him. It’s just like him to stick up for the underdog. 

“Don’t,” Hotch says with finality. He doesn’t want to have this conversation but he doubts Morgan will let him off that easy.

“Don’t question you when you’re completely out of line? Fat chance. I can’t believe you did that to the Kid. He has every right to be here.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Hotch keeps his voice steady. “He’s a distraction, he’s a liability, and I won’t have him around while there are lives at stake. We have an obligation to these people.” He slaps the file down on the desk, open to a picture of the last two victims. “I’m not going to take the risk of having him around when all he’ll do is overwhelm everyone with his Scent.”

“Just because he’s distracting doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to do his job. There’s no law against Omegas in the FBI, you know that. You’re being prejudiced and he doesn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not a law, but there hasn’t been an Omega in the FBI for over 30 years and for good reason.” 

“You didn't even give him a chance, Prentiss buts in, “Give him time to prove himself at least. Besides, his smell isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I’ve smelled worse,” Morgan agrees, nodding over at Prentiss. 

“He reeks,” Hotch mutters. 

“You know, I worked with an Omega back in my day,” Rossi says, looking bored from his seat near the window, “Only lasted a few years but she was a damn fine detective.”

“What happened?” JJ asks.

“She found an Alpha eventually, and decided to leave the bureau. She didn’t have to, hell, she could’ve done both, but she wanted to move out of D.C. too. Given the chance, any Omega with a sharp mind could make it. It’s not their biology that’s stopping them.”

“It’s society,” JJ says, her voice dark, and Hotch can detect the resentment there saying that she’s probably had her own fair share of society’s expectations weighing down on her. 

It doesn’t change the fact that Reid’s scent is mind numbing. 

Rossi nods; he’s said what he needed to and he’s done. Hotch isn’t done. He can’t focus on the case file and he’s back to bickering with Morgan about how Reid’s scent doesn’t belong. Morgan says that it’s not the Omega’s responsibility to mask their scent, but instead it’s the Alpha’s responsibility to control themselves around it. Hotch thinks that might be true but it doesn't mean they have to flaunt it in an environment full of guns and killers. 

Sometime later they arrive at the precinct where the locals brief them on everything they have. Hotch delves into it with an energy that he hasn’t felt in years. There’s this pent up buzzing in his chest, and he figures the best way to deal with it is to bury it. 

There’s no difference in how the team operates. Reid is missing, in a way, but it's not like he’s ever been on a case before, so everything runs smoothly without him. Hotch is coping with the situation just fine until he hears Reid’s voice come through the speaker phone right after Garcia’s. 

He’s discussing motives with Rossi and Prentiss while Garcia is typing in the background, fact checking everything they come up with. Hotch doesn’t like how involved it’s getting. He can’t even smell the Omega, but that voice is bringing up these scent filled memories that are triggering something primal in him and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to work like this. He ends up snapping at anyone that comes too close. 

He heads out with Morgan to the latest crime scene just to get out of that damned station. Thankfully Morgan lets off about Reid. Hotch puts his whole attention on the body still laying in a pool of congealed blood, noting the angles of the limbs and the way that the clothes the killer left on the body happened not to get a single drop of red on them. They were a stark white comparison to the horror underneath them. Morgan is crouched down, inspecting something to the left of them. He opens his cell and his face softens, if only a fraction of an inch. “Reid, hey. What’s going on, Pretty boy?” 

Hotch winces. He looks at the body. He can’t focus. Damn Omega. 

“Yeah. Okay, we’re there now, me and Hotch. Yeah, I’ll take a look at that. Uh-huh. What do you mean? Okay,” he laughs, standing, and faces the window, “I don’t think— oh wait, yeah. You’re right, here it is. How’d you know that? Oh, come on. Really? Huh.” Morgan is standing on his tippy toes looking at something near the top of the window frame. “Well I’m impressed. I’ll let you know when we get this back to the station for testing. Good job.”

Morgan shoves his phone in his back pocket and turns to Hotch who is red faced and steaming. He looks between him and the body underneath him and gives him a concerned look. “You okay, man? You look a little off. You need to step out? This one is... gruesome.” 

Hotch doesn't need to _step out_. Hotch needs Morgan to back the hell off of Reid, telling him how _good_ his observations are. If Reid is being _good_ , then _Hotch_ will tell him. And he isn’t being anything close to that, because if he were, he’d be far the fuck away from the FBI. “Just tell me what you found,” He mutters. 

“Well, Reid figured out that th-” 

“Just show me,” Hotch demands, side stepping a pile of broken glass on the floor. 

“Listen, I know you’re upset about Reid, but he’s making some amazing connections-”

“Morgan!” Hotch shouts, “Just show me the damn thing. Enough about the Omega.”

“Whatever,” Morgan says dismissively. He knows when not to upset the pecking order; he may be an Alpha but Hotch outranks him. There’s a tiny smudge of black that Morgan points to and says, “Motor oil”. 

Hotch can’t make the jump from bleeding out on the floor to motor oil on the window and he doesn’t ask because he doesn’t want to have another discussion about Reid, and somewhere in the back of his mind he doesn’t want to face the fact that an Omega is picking up on something an Alpha can’t.

“Bag it, and let’s go,” he says instead, and exits the room.

. . . 

Morgan hands off the evidence to the forensics lab and the team reconvenes in the LEO’s conference room. Garcia and Reid are pulled up on a video call, and Hotch feels like he can’t pry his eyes away. Even worse, he feels like the Omega is making eye contact with him because he’s looking directly into the camera. Hotch is itching to get his hands around the back of its neck and crane its head so far down that all it can see is the floor. How dare it look an Alpha like him in the eye. His brain is going crazy and he can’t turn it off.

After an hour, everyone is on the same page, so they release the profile to the rest of the station. With any luck, JJ announces, they’ll pull something off the oil smudged on the window. Some DNA, hopefully. 

The oil doesn’t bring anything back. The Unsub wore latex gloves. There was, however, a match on the type of oil used, a fully synthetic blend more often used in luxury vehicles. That’s something. 

Reid’s voice pops up again from across the room. It’s like he’s perpetually _there._ Hotch wants everyone to turn off their cells and focus on the case. They don’t need Reid. He doesn’t need Reid. 

Garcia is humming a tune and narrating her search when Reid squeals and stops her. He sees a byline in a newspaper print and makes her enlarge it and screen share with everyone. It’s on a crash that happened eight months back: a woman killed in a car crash by a drunk driver. 

Hotch scoffs because it was just a lucky guess to go over old papers. Reid doesn’t have the kind of experience they all do. His methods are all wrong. He wants to be out with search warrants and going through real evidence instead. 

There’s a name though, Edward Micheals, and he’s the son of the deceased woman from the crash. He’s 38 with a background in construction and he’s gone off the grid as of two days ago. He looks up at Reid on the monitor and scowls. Reid is smiling and fist bumping Garcia, and Hotch wants to throw something heavy. 

At the very least, Hotch makes the kill shot, and Micheals goes down like a lead balloon. His adrenaline is maxed out, and he finally releases some of the tension that he’s been bottling up. He feels the weight of the gun in his hand, the coolness of the trigger, and the hot arid smoke billowing out of the barrel and his mind slows down just enough to catch his breath for the first time in days. He needs it. 

He goes back to the jet and sleeps on the way home. He’s not thinking about Reid, Omegas, or the primal itch that carved out a home in his brain.


	2. I'll Say What I Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Hotch barred Reid from coming on the case so Spencer helped from behind the screen with Garcia. Hotch was madboy af

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loveeeeeeee this chapter
> 
> Also Hotch referring to Reid as 'it' instead if 'him' is sooo annoying to write because it looks confusing as hell to me but hopefully you guys will read it fine

Reid has on his favorite noise cancelling headphones and he’s snuggled up in bed, comforted by all his favorite smells and textures, and it’s _wonderful_. He has cinnamon incense burning by the open window, and the smell of fall air is wafting in pushing it around the room. He just got out of the shower too, so his blow dried hair still smells heavily of vanilla. 

It’s a veritable paradise after the last few days, and he has to chase away the thought that his new life is going to be filled with negativity. But that’s what he set his own self up for, so he focuses on the thick cotton blanket pulled around his shoulders, and thinks happier thoughts. Impossible equations. Epistemology. The General Theory of Relativity. He needs this day off like he needs oxygen and he didn’t even get the full BAU experience yet; it was just him and Garcia— _no_. No more BAU thoughts. 

Cotton. Cinnamon. Relativity. No more thinking. 

But he can't stop thinking, he never could, and what his brain _really_ wants to explore is that… that Unit Chief of his, as deplorable as he may be. Musky and raw, and everything that makes him want to rub against a pillow and moan. He won't, but he wants to. The Omega inside him is pleading to get another whiff. He’s telling him that he needs it, that he can’t live a life that isn’t saturated in that smell. 

Reid is covered in fluffy blankets, soft cotton, an arm between his thighs, and a smile. 

He doesn’t give himself release. He won’t let it go that far, and he resents Hotch for ruining his comfort time even if he wasn’t directly responsible. He won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that the Omega pleasured himself to his musky, virile scent, if he were ever to profile it out of him.

The cinnamon incense has burned down to the stick and Reid gets up out of bed because he’s promised to meet Ethan for brunch at their usual spot. It's an Omega-friendly cafe. They sit outside on the patio. It’s sunny with a dulled, dry heat that isn't enough to overpower the cold chill that Fall supplies. He’s wearing his favorite disney sweater with Minnie mouse on the front, and it makes Ethan frown when he sits. 

“Okay. What is it?” He asks. He has a glass of orange juice in front of him and a half eaten spinach omelette. 

Spencer isn’t late. Ethan is just early to a fault, but it’s okay because he ordered Spencer a Belgian waffle and it’s still hot. 

Spencer closes his eyes and takes in the sweet smell of syrup and bananas, and he moans unabashedly; Ethan’s heard it a million times before so it doesn’t really matter. Plus Ethan is an Omega too, so Spencer can moan all he wants and he would totally understand. 

They met at college— Spencer’s second time around— and became inseparable friends. It may have been the fact that they were the only two Omegas on campus, but it didn’t matter either which way. Spencer loved Ethan like a brother and there wasn’t any going back from that. 

“What’s what?” Spencer asks. He’s tucking into his waffle and enjoying the weather. He feels happy. 

“You’re wearing your ‘I’m-secretly-upset-so-I’ll-self-soothe-with-Minnie-mouse-sweater’ and I _know_ that’s what that sweater is, so don’t even try to argue with me.” 

“It is not!” Spencer gasps. He wasn’t that transparent, was he?

“You wore it for a week straight after the university library tossed out that old copy of Crime and Punishment you liked because the spine fell completely off.” 

“That book is a national treasure!” Spencer says, his voice strung up with emotion, “How could they do that?! That’s what conservators are for! They fix books that need fixing! You don’t just toss Crime and Punishment in the _trash_ because the spine is loose!” 

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Ethan waves his hand in a circle, pointing at Spencer’s red face and fast breathing, “Self-soothing-sweater for the things that get you riled up.”

“Fine! Fine. But you know what? Minnie could make a rock smile, so it’s basically a crime not to wear her when you’re sad,” he pouts. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” 

Ethan wouldn’t demand that Spencer tell him, but they are best friends and a little bit of prodding is acceptable. He gives Spencer his signature puppy-dog pout that he knows he can’t resist. Spencer stuffs the rest of the waffle in his mouth and swallows before telling him all about his first day with the BAU. There’s the stink, first and foremost, that he recounts, and then there’s the discrimination that he expected, but nonetheless didn’t appreciate. Ethan listens to him patiently, nodding his head at the bad parts and sipping on his orange juice. He tracks down the waitress to order Spencer a green tea, and then Spencer gets to the part about _Hotch_.

The tea arrives, he cradles it between his hands, and it’s hot hot hot. The steam is coming up and warming his face, all humid and fresh. He blushes. Ethan raises an eyebrow but Spencer tells him it’s just the steam dilating his blood vessels. Ethan doesn’t buy it. 

“My boss. He’s the sweater reason.” 

“I knew it!” Ethan shouts, and then, more resigned, mutters, “Alphas.”

“Alphas.” Spencer nods. “Can’t live with them, can’t live… _well_...”

Ethan laughs. It’s a joke they’ve had for years, although Ethan doesn’t really believe it the way Spencer does. Ethan’s had an Alpha before. Multiple, actually, just never the bonded kind. 

Spencer doesn’t need an Alpha and he certainly doesn’t want one. Ethan agrees that Hotch is totally out of line, but his solution is to leave which Spencer thinks is out of the question. He’s resigned himself to the idea of enduring the prejudice already. And the smell… he’ll have to endure that... just in a different way. He doesn’t tell Ethan about the smell. Hell might freeze over if Spencer admits that out loud. It’s safe locked up in his mind where no one can find it. Maybe he can hide it from himself, too. 

“If you’re not gonna quit, or change departments, though I don’t think there are any safe units in that place, then you’ll just have to show him how kickass you are.” 

“Come on, Eth, I only want to get through the day in one piece, let alone be ‘kickass’ as you so eloquently put it.” 

“I mean it, dude! You’re great, and that’s coming from someone who isn’t impressed by anything, you know me. Show off that brain of yours. Razzle, em’ and dazzle em’.” He laughs, but Spencer knows he’s dead serious. 

“The others, they take me seriously. Half of me doesn’t want to be impressive, though. Morgan, he told me I did a good job, and I keened a little bit.” Spencer blushes again, and groans. “I tried so hard not to react to that. I don’t even like him like that, Eth, but… praise, you know?” 

Ethan gets a dopey little smile, thinking about his own praises. “Oh yeah, I definitely know.”

“I don’t know whether to crawl into a ball and show them how right they were about the Omega not being able to handle it, or embarrass the hell out of myself getting praised for my abilities. It’s lose-lose. Tell me again why I did this? Ethan, why did you let me do this?”

Ethan is shoving the scraps on his plate around when he lets out a little chuckle. “Spence, you can do this. I mean it. You’re stronger than you know. And all jokes asides, I'm really proud of you.” 

Spencer wants to cry. He wants to, but he doesn’t. It would be a happy-cry, a friends-are-amazing-cry, but crying would be too much at the moment. He reaches out and grabs Ethan’s other hand instead, squeezing it and Ethan knows exactly what he’s trying to say. It's a big deal because Spencer never touches him. Hardly ever, anyway. The last time was a few years back. It was graduation day, and they shared a quick hug. 

Ethan let him touch for as long as he wanted and squared it away in his head under ‘Cute Spencer Moments’. There are surprisingly few. Most are filed under ‘Quirky’ or ‘Annoying’. 

Spencer sits up straight, pulls back his shoulders, and tips up his chin. “You’re right. I can do this. I _will_ do this. I can.”

“Good.”

“I can. ...Can’t I?” 

Spencer’s shoulders droop.

Ethan points his fork at him in warning. “No takesies backsies!”

“But, _Ethan!”_

. . . . . . 

Hotch enjoys a couple days off to get himself together. It’s something he needs. There’s the time he spends at the gym lifting weights with Morgan, (though he doesn’t attempt nearly half the amount Morgan does; he’s more endurance than anything else) the ten miles that he runs, and the guilty pleasure of binge watching of CSI Miami. Life is regimented and a little bit dull, but that’s the way he prefers it.

He feels much better when he comes back to work again, and all of his efforts are hopelessly dashed the moment Reid waltzes in. Sex. Itchy hindbrain. Scent, scent, scent, Bite him, do it _now._

Hotch has to get himself together; he’s acting like a teenager. 

He grabs his bag and heads to the shooting range to blow off steam _again_. When he comes back smelling of gunpowder and sweat, he’s met with JJ looking at him funny. Funny as in nervous, which isn’t good. JJ got over most of her fear of him a while ago; she doesn’t get the nervous look on her face anymore. 

She hands him a file. He reads it over fast. It isn't just any case, it’s an organized killer, serial killer, extremely meticulous and detail oriented, with 13 kills under his belt and not even a trace of usable evidence left behind. Goes after male victims, _mates_ , and tears them limb from limb. Hotch would be fascinated by the juxtaposition of his methodical mindset and his brutal fashion of killing if not for the fact that he’s fixated on the last bit of information in the file, the proposed plan of action. Undercover work, Alpha and Omega. That’s why JJ looks so nervous. He’s the only one who fits the bill, him and—

“Reid is being briefed in the conference room. I know that his presence has been difficult for you, but try to keep it civil. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he’s a great kid. You just have to give him a chance. That, and get over those archaic ideas you have in your head. If not for him, then do it for the case, okay? These people need our help before anyone else gets killed.”

Hotch clears his throat and glances over at the conference room. Reid is in there learning that it’s going to have to pretend to be _his_ Omega, and everything excitable in Aaron’s body is screaming _YES_ at the mere thought of it. 

Every part of Hotch’s brain, however, is screaming _NO_ because he knows there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to control himself that long and in such close proximity. It’s just not going to happen, not now, and not ever. 

It _is_ going to happen, that’s what Strauss says when he barges in her office later that day. She’s the one calling the shots and he has to listen. Aaron is an Alpha that doesn't take orders from anyone, except for Strauss, because there’s a hierarchy in the FBI and there’s nothing that he values more than the rules. That, and the threats.

He avoids the conference room. If it were anyone else, and he wishes it were, he would brief with them. Go over the cover story, make sure they have the details down, and flesh out their characters so that they’re believable and won’t result in them getting killed or worse, (There’s always something worse) but he doesn’t. 

The next day comes all too soon and he can’t run from it anymore. Reid has its go bag next to its desk, but not only that, uts’s got a small suitcase stuffed with what he knows is enough supplies to last a couple weeks. Hotch has one sitting in his office too. The hair on the back of his neck has been standing at attention all day and there's nothing that he can do to quiet down the feeling that this is _wrong_ in the sort of way that is so _right_.

Reid is looking up at him from the bullpen. There are those eyes, so searching and soft. For a moment he lets himself get lost in them, and it makes him feel like he’s wrapped up in a big warm blanket- _no_. 

He looks away. He’s going to have to get over the way that Reid makes him feel, or at the very least hide it, and he has to accomplish it fast. There’s no way he can stay angry for the entire trip, and so far that’s the only way that he’s been able to disguise it. 

Reid has looked away too. It’s scratching the back of its neck and hopping on one foot to the other, looking around the pen, for who Hotch assumes is JJ. She’s been a good mediator between them up until now, but soon she’ll be out of the picture, listening behind a wire, and Reid will have to face him himself. 

For now, though, Hotch goes back into his office, shuts the door, and takes a steadying breath. He takes time to make sure his mind is in order. 

This time when Reid tries to board the jet he doesn’t stop it. He wishes he could but there’s nothing he can do. The loss of control is only fueling his anger and he sits in the back of the jet far away from everyone else. 

Reid tries to approach him mid flight but the glare that he shoots it is sharp enough to pierce, and it sits back down with shoulders slumped a little bit lower than before. (Not that Hotch was keeping an eye on it)

. . .

The teams checks into a hotel at the epicentre of all previous murders. Hotch and Reid enter first, listening devices wedged snugly in their ears, and they make their way up to their room on the third floor. JJ and Morgan check in several hours later, with Emily and Rossi trailing behind. The four of them occupy a room on the second floor directly under Hotch and Reid’s. 

In the room they smuggled several suitcases full of surveillance equipment and paperwork pertinent to the case. Hotch is wishing to be in that room, far from the one he’s currently in and free from Reid’s careful eye. 

Ried is watching him tactfully, if not a bit cautiously, and staying on the outskirts of the room as if it would blend right into the wallpaper and disappear. Hotch doesn’t mind it. If it wants to avoid him, let it. Soon enough it won’t be an option. 

Soon enough is too soon. Since Hotch is working his role undercover, Prentiss takes point on the timeline of events, and orders them out to a local bar close to the last murder. Being that the Unsub is meticulous in his killing, the team suspects he’s in the window of selecting his next victims. 

Hotch and Ried want to be those victims. 

Red low light illuminates the sidewalk of the bar. It buzzes faintly and casts a rosy tint over Reid’s cheeks as it walks up; it compliments it's maroon sweater nicely. Hotch looks away. 

He grabs the door and pulls it open for Reid with a grimace. Reid has a grimace of its own; Its hand is already out and reaching for the door. It doesn't look like it appreciates the chivalry from Hotch, and Hotch catches it muttering something about how it can open a dang door itself. 

But they were _mates_ now. Hotch would hold the door open for his mate unquestionably. 

“Just be good,” Hotch huffs, trailing in after him. 

“Good? Excuse me? Watch your mouth,” Reid spits back. It turns around to look Hotch in the eye, and Hotch stops short, finding Reid close enough to breathe on. 

He looks into Reid’s eyes with steely ones of his own and swallows his annoyance. “Yes. _Good._ Enough with the snide remarks, okay? Play your part and let’s get this over with.” It was going to be hard enough to get through this night with Ried attached to his hip, he didn’t need the Omega giving him lip.

Or maybe he did. The anger was certainly helping ward off the feeling of attraction deep in the pit of his stomach. 

“You’re unbelievable. I don’t know why I try with people like you.”

“Ditto.” hotch quips. He walks purposely up to the bar and orders them drinks, and pulls Reid to a table in the middle of the bar, right front and center, hard to miss. 

Reid shimmies up close, brushing its hip against his. Reid is playing a part. Its scent is overwhelming. Hotch can feel the gun in Reid’s holster against him. Reid is looking over at him, their eyes level. It’s looking at him so wanting… Hotch needs to give it what it wants. What does Reid want? Its pupils are dilated the size of the moon and twinkling like the night sky. 

No, no, no. He can’t think like that. But They’re supposed to be mates. 

He doesn’t want anything. He _can't._

He wants to find a killer. 

Calm down. Alpha is puffing up inside his chest; he wants to scream and growl, pull Reid close and _bite_. It‘s that damned scent. _Omega, omega, omega. Sex, lust, and everything tantalizing._

From so close he could even discern what the smell is. It’s so thick and lusty but when he reads in between the lines he can see dusty old books and peppermint. He can smell the first bite out of a caramel apple, so refreshingly crisp and sugary all at the same time. He feels the fssst pop of cracking open a cold can of soda on a hot day, and the satisfying click of turning the right key in a lock. He doesn't know whether he wants to stick his cock in Reid, devour it whole, or wrap it up in his arms and protect it forever. 

Maybe all of the above.

He can’t take it. He leans down in the space between Reid’s neck and collarbone, skirting just back the edge of its golden curls, and _scents_. He covers it completely in everything _Hotchner._

The wave of relief that passes through him is immediate. There’s the fact that Reid no longer smells like heaven on Earth, and the fact that the gesture is so possessive and intimate that it quells his itchy brain and he can breathe again for the first time in weeks. 

“Hotch—!” Reid nearly screams out, but Hotch is too pleased to care. Reid is smelling like him and he loves it, even lets himself get lost in it for a second before snapping back to reality. 

“Shush, Reid. Try to look like you're not horrified that your _mate_ just scented you. I told you to be good, didn't I? Listen to your Alpha.” 

Reid is red in the face and stammering, barely making out a coherent sentence. “You— you're not— you didn’t— you didn’t have to _actually_ do it!” 

“It’s part of the cover,” he lies, “The killer could be watching. He needs to know we’re together. You need to smell like you’re mine.” He likes the way ‘you’re mine’ rolls off his tongue. He could get used to that phrase. 

Reid merely gulps and shakes its head. It's shaken, but it steps in closer and presses a kiss on his cheek. The touch is electric and warm all at the same time. It feels like the only thing happening in the entire world, as if the bar suddenly went on mute.

Reid pulls back, a frown on its face, and it nods. “Right. Undercover. Mates. Not a problem.” 

It most certainly is a problem. 

The kiss is still burning on his cheek as he subtly surveys the room. It's filled with people but there aren’t any suspicious looking individuals that he can spot. There’s a couple leaning in close together in a booth by the wall, a large group of what appears to be friends, college aged, around a table next to them, and a few other groups sharing drinks scattered across the bar. There aren’t any individuals present. The killer could be someone in a group, but Hotch doubts it. He knows the killer is methodical, meticulous, and what he suspects to be a loner. He would come alone, he knows it. 

He grabs Reid’s free hand and drags it down a hallway and through a set of doors leading to another section of the bar, this one decorated in tacky nautical ropes and looking out to the bay. There are a few gruff sailor looking types, a woman, and two men leaned against the bar. He pulls Reid to the railing looking out to the water and pins it against it so Reid can only look at his face, whereas he’s got the view. Hotch doesn’t give a damn about the view, though, Reid is- 

Well, Reid is far more beautiful than the bay, _fine._ The low light and the flickering of the fire in the torches make it look even more pretty and warm. 

“Anyone look suspicious?” Reid whispers, instead of complaining about being trapped between him and the railing. “You can’t discount the people down there.” He nods backwards. “There’s a man in a black hoodie and cargo shorts sitting on a towel, and a fisherman that has the wrong equipment for this time of night.”

Hotch looks at it and scowls, because there’s no way it saw and remembered all of that in the brief few seconds that it faced the shore. 

“There’s also a couple doing some very heavy petting, but I don’t think they’re very suspicious,” Reid laughs, and Hotch spots the pair down on the sand in a more secluded area with their lips locked and bodies moving. 

“How did you do that?” He demands, leaning in closer. 

“Didn’t they tell you? Genius.” 

“I know you’re a genius,” Hotch says, “but you saw all of that without even looking.” 

Reid still smells like him, and that fact is reassuring; he can think clearly and he isn’t quite so turned on, but its eyes are still so pleasing it’s hard not to want to fall into them. 

“I did. I saw, I observed. I’m very observant.” 

Hotch huffs, “Clearly.” 

There’s a buzzing in Hotch’s ear and he all but forgot about his earpiece. Morgan’s voice floods their heads. 

_—How are you two doing in there? Any suspects? Over.—_

Reid’s eyes dart around the room and then it’s leaning in towards Hotch, resting its head down on his shoulder like it’s trying to sniff his scent gland, and Hotch shivers. 

It’s not, though. Reid presses the button on its earpiece and talks into Hotch’s shoulder. “No one in the bar yet. There’s two down on the shore that could be our guy. Fisherman about 6’1, and a younger man about 5’11. How about on your end?”

Morgan is taking watch outside the front of the bar across the street, _—No one yet. Pretty quiet out here.—_

Prentiss chimes in next, _—Rossi and I will head to the back and check out those two you pointed out, Reid. Keep your eyes peeled, everyone, we want to catch this guy before anyone else winds up dead.—_

Hotch feels Reid back up again, realizing he’s had his eyes closed. When he opens them Reid is looking back in with a confused glare, and Hotch squares his shoulders in an attempt to get professional. 

“Come on, Reid.” Hotch says. He pulls Reid up to the bar and orders another round of drinks, something light. In perfect view of everyone, Hotch snakes his arms around Reid’s waist ~~like he’s wanted to do since he laid eyes on him.~~

Reid responds with fake enthusiasm, or... is it real? It’s pressing in and grinning like it likes it. Hotch nearly chokes on the thick pleased vibes rolling off of it. He smells like it’s radiating romance. 

Hotch can’t stand it; he scents it again. Reid has a frown on its face for a fraction of a second, trying not to let his cover blow, and whispers, “Really?”

Hotch looks the other way. “You reek, Omega. I can’t help it.” 

“Not so strong an Alpha, then?” Reid says, sipping his drink. 

Hotch looks back over at the smug look on Reid’s face. He hates it. As if he’s going to let some Omega talk down to him like it's nothing— he growls out a threat, hand clenching his waist. “You’d better watch your mouth.” 

“No, I’ll say what I please,” Reid replies, its voice full of force, “And I don’t reek. _You_ reek, and I’ve had to deal with it all night. I know you have a lot of experience at being undercover, but my gosh, the scents you've been letting off are nearly drowning in desire.”

Hotch relents for a second because fine, he never thought about the fact that Reid has been having to breathe him in exclusively for the past hour, even if it should be grateful for it, and the fact that it assumes it's just part of his cover is reassuring, “Touché.” 

Reid almost looks shocked. “Good, okay. Good.” He knows Reid didn’t expect him to give so without a fight, but he’s been fighting all night and quite frankly, he’s tired of everything. He wants out of the bar and out of Reid’s vicinity, but that’s not going to happen tonight and he knows it. He downs his drink and tries to breathe in through his mouth. 

Prentiss and Rossi rule out their suspects, and so does Morgan. They’re out of ideas for today and call it quits, finally alerting Hotch and Reid that they can come outside and catch a cab back. Hotch is more than relieved and let’s go of Reid’s waist as soon as they’re out of the door because if he doesn’t now, he never will, and he’s repulsed by the thought. He’s never felt a stronger pull to anyone before, and he knows it’s all because it's an _Omega_.

Reid doesn’t object, either. It scampers into the cab before the thing is even fully parked. 

. . . . . . 

Reid doesn’t want to share a bed. He doesn’t see why he even needs to. He closes the door behind him as he runs into the bathroom to take a breather and scrub all the Alpha off his skin. He sets the water so hot it nearly burns him, but that’s the price he has to pay for reminding himself that he can’t have Hotch. Can’t, won't. 

He hears Hotch's deep voice sounding out from the room. He’s on the phone and talking like he doesn’t utterly hate whoever’s on the other line, and Reid briefly wonders what that would sound like directed at him. 

He reminds himself of all the bigoted things that have spewed out of Hotch’s mouth, going over it in his mind like a movie reel, and it helps set the mood back to repulsion., but it’s hard fighting off your base desires when you’re covered in the scent of an Alpha that drives you wild. 

He needs his sweater. He digs for it in his suitcase when he emerges from the bathroom in a tee shirt and sweats, steam billowing out the doorway and disappearing into the air overhead. 

Hotch doesn’t look at him. He’s sitting on the bed cleaning each individual part of his gun as he disassembles it. He looks peaceful, or trying to be, anyway. 

Reid lets him be. Soft knit brushes his hand and he pulls it, sending several shirts flying out. 

He pets it against his face and sighs. He loves his Minnie Mouse sweater more than food and air and anything else you might need to live. He pulls it on overtop, smiles, genuinely happy. He feels more safe and secure and more like himself than he has all night. He wants it to last, but he still has to get into bed with Hotch and he isn’t looking forward to it. 

Hotch _doesn’t_ scare him; he’s just a posturing Alpha, but he’s so tired of constantly being on edge around him, and he’s never been around an Alpha for this long before. 

It’s draining. 

He scoots in between the sheets on the opposite side of where Hotch is now reassembling his gun and closes his eyes tight. The clicking sounds stop after a few minutes. He feels Hotch get up from the bed and then the dip in the mattress as he settles in as far away from him as he can. 

Thank Gosh they have a king bed. 

“Are you sleeping?” Reid whisperers. It’s been an hour without a peep, but he can hear the rhythm of Hotch’s breathing and it’s still uneven. 

Hotch only grunts. Sleepy Alpha, or angry boss? 

Reid is jittery now and wants to be home in his own bed with his soft sheets and feather down pillows. The hotel sheets are scratchy and thin and they’re laying on his skin like sandpaper. He pulls his hands up into the sleeves of his sweater and his feet up into his sweats to get some relief. 

“Stop moving around,” Hotch mutters. 

Sleepy Alpha _and_ angry boss. 

Reid doesn’t stop; he isn’t comfortable. “This bed is the worst. Feels like a forrest floor.”

“It feels like a bed. Go to sleep.” 

“I’m trying,” Reid snaps. He is trying, to be honest, it just isn’t working, “and if you’re so bothered, then _you_ go to sleep and you won’t have to listen to me.” 

He doesn’t respond for a beat, and Reid thinks Hotch chose to ignore him, but then came, “Can’t,” like a secret. 

The next part isn’t a secret; it’s an accusation and an insult. “You reek and I can’t sleep because the entire room smells like you. I’m being suffocated.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Reid scoffs, “Coming from the Alpha that had me soaked in his stench for _hours_. What, can’t handle a little Omega scent? I thought Alphas were supposed to be strong. _I_ can ignore you with enough effort; you do the same.” 

“I am strong,” Hotch says, pulling the blanket tighter around him, “I don’t need the extra distraction, though, that’s why they don’t let people like you out running wild to distract the rest of us.”

“Wow, very mature of you, Agent. Glad you’re _so_ enlightened. We really need more Alphas like you around.” 

“We do,” he scoffs. Hotch yanks the blanket so hard it comes clean off of him, but he feels better without it and doesn’t bother grabbing back for it. He shuts his eyes and wills himself to sleep. 

Sleep comes eventually, and he has the best sleep of his life. When he opens his eyes the bed has transformed from that lumpy, disgusting graham cracker of a mattress onto a beautiful, cozy cloud. 

It’s all protection and calm nerves. It’s warmness radiating like a space heater. It's being told that everything is okay and believing it without a shadow of a doubt. It’s everything last night— oh, _ew._

Last night, ew, it's not a cloud, it’s Hotch. He feels scented. He hates it, he loves it, he wants to scream and he wants to jump up and flee the room. 

He wants to press his cock further down against the thigh he’s half straddling, and slip his hands into the waistband of the boxers he’s _right_ on top of.

No, no, _no._

He bites his tongue and shuffles back, shoving every good feeling he has down into the dark recesses of his mind where all his embarrassing thoughts live. 

He takes a steadying breath. Hotch is stirring. He’s growling in his sleep and clawing at the sheets, bucking his hips and nuzzling his face into the pillow. He looks primal and needy, so much more like a regular man than his FBI boss, and Reid gets the urge to get close and hug him until he calms down, but he won’t. 

He slips out of bed and into the bathroom praying that this day won’t be as long as he suspects it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case portion of the fic is tbh shoddily thought out, and there's no real clever underlying plot to it so don't think about it too hard hahah I'm just here for the manlove


	3. Every Rule Has an Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chap Reid and Hotch bickered, Hotch was a huge ass, Reid was conflicted.
> 
> Now they learn some stuff about the case and each other

It does last way too long, going just about the same as the night before with no new leads and lots of energy wasted. He and Hotch are at each other's throats from the moment they wake up. He’s never met anyone so infuriating before, nor anyone who he’s felt so hopelessly attracted to. Making sure Hotch doesn’t find out about the latter just means more fighting and constantly being on the defensive. 

Hotch scents him again and again and he’s beginning to feel like he’s in a perpetual state of _Hotch_. At one point he debates sticking bar peanuts up his nostrils just to block the smell. 

The next night a couple ends up dead a few miles from where they’re staying and Reid knows that the team would never say it, but they blame their shoddy undercover work for why the killer has yet to target them. To the team's credit, Hotch and Reid look more like a couple of awkward strangers than happy, in-love mates. 

He and Hotch aren’t allowed at the crime scene but they comb through the photographs that are emailed over. Hotch stares at them in concentration and his scent gets all focused and dark, and honestly Spencer finds it very conducive to work in. He’s focused then, too, and his eyes dart over the evidence at a mile a minute. His mind whirls as all the relevant articles and books he can think of flash in his head and the connections start forming. 

There’s themes; he can pick them out from a book he read a few years back on American Romanticism. Beyond the topics of nature and freedom, individuality and self expression, there’s exactly what he’s projecting onto each one of his kills: heartbreak, awe, and rage. Though, Reid supposes, the self expression is something that the Unsub is probably bottling up and presenting as the urge to kill. Brutally. 

There’s something else, too, that catches Reid's eye and it’s this strange, subtle indent on each one of the bodies. It’s probably from a ring. He tells the team but there’s nothing that pings in the database about hexagonal rings, and they’re back at square one. 

They’re going out to another bar for the third time this week around the time the sun is setting and Prentiss gives them a stern warning not to act like they can’t stand to look each other in the eye.

Hotch acts like the perfect gentleman, if not too much so. There’s something to say about getting pampered, and then there’s being handled like an invaild. Reid would prefer to place his own orders, and open his own doors. Although the hand on his lower back as he walks through a crowd is both reassuring and grounding and he likes it very much. Which makes him angry, because he doesn’t want to, darn it. 

Reid holds his breath because Hotch’s scent has been getting to him for the past hour; ever since he woke up with that fuzzy feeling of being protected and whole, he can’t unassociate the two. Hotch’s scent is like the perfect combination of sex and comfort. He feels like it’s beckoning him over with a very persuasive finger.

Reid decides to let himself be pulled… just a little. It’s for the case. He smiles when Hotch slips their hands together, even if he is squeezing a little too hard, and he leans in when he runs his hand along his cheek, wondering if they might kiss. 

Then Hotch has to go and say something like, “This is torture,” and Reid deflates, remembering all the reasons Hotch sucks. All the reasons he hates Omegas and looks down upon them like dumb little housepets. 

And fine, if Hotch is going to complain about how _distracting_ he is, why not give him a run for his money? He has no idea how _distracting_ he can be.

Reid runs his hand through his thick hair, pushing it back, gathering up courage. He lets himself think about the way Hotch’s smell makes him hot and out of breath. His pupils are blowing, and he knows it’s not appropriate for public, but it’s a surefire way to get either Hotch’s or the Unsub’s attention, so he might as well. Hotch’s head jerks to the side, immediately aware of the pheromones that Reid is letting off, but Reid greets him with his teeth biting softly down on his lower lip, and his cheeks flushed red. Before Hotch can even say a word, Reid leans up just the slightest bit and kisses him with slightly parted, wet lips. 

And _oh, God._ It wasn’t supposed to feel like _that_. Not fireworks and marching bands and loud, annoying things that Reid usually tries to avoid. He doesn’t even like the fourth of July, except it’s making a beautiful, exhilarating kind of sense, and he wants to watch the little lights twinkle and explode forever. 

He pulls back because Hotch is gripping his forearm so tight it starts to ache. Hotch is panting and his eyes are _red_ like he’s only seen one or twice before. It scares him a little bit, and he cowers, taking a step back, unable to stop himself from gasping. 

Hotch takes both Reid’s wrists in his hands and keeps him from running. He wants to. 

“Omega—” he growls with a dirty, gravely voice that’s been chewed up and spit out. “You— you—” He can’t even form a sentence. 

Reid doesn’t know how to calm him down, and maybe it serves Hotch right for being such an ass to him over the past few weeks. So Reid lets out a little whimper like he’s seen Omegas do in front of their Alphas before and Hotch’s grip gets tighter, his breathing heavier, and he looks like he’s going to rut right there in the middle of the bar. 

_—Okay, guys, I think you’ve made your point—_ Morgan is saying through their earpieces. _—Hotch, are you okay, man? I think you need to take a breather.—_

Reid scans the room and sees Morgan outside the window. He’s looking in but it’s casual and he seems like just another patron standing outside for a smoke. 

At least Morgan will protect him if Hotch starts rutting. 

Hotch lets out a string of curses and lets go of Reid’s wrists before slamming down the rest of his drink and counting to ten. His eyes start to fade back to brown, and Reid lets out a sigh of relief. 

While Hotch is distracted he ventures up to the bar and orders them another round of drinks. He gets a blue hawian for himself. It’s super tasty and he suspects Hotch has been letting him order (as if) because he hates saying it to the bartender, and then he gets straight whisky for him. He’s got the straw in his mouth, sipping up tropical goodness when someone bumps right into him and knocks him to the side. 

“Woah, buddy! Didn't see you there,” the stranger says. He’s got a hand clutching his upper arm as he tries to steady Reid. Reid shakes him off; he doesn’t like being touched. It’s an Alpha and he stinks like purple garbage.

“It’s alright,” Reid mumbles. He starts walking off, but the stranger is in front of him, blocking his path. “What…?”

“Nothing, nothing,” the Alpha frowns, “Just making sure you aren’t hurt and didn’t spill your drinks.” 

“They’re fine, I’m fine. Everything is fine,” Reid says, with his eyes floating over towards Hotch. 

“Okay, yeah, I get it. That your Alpha over there? Sorry,” he says, putting his hands up, and shuffling off into the crowd. He’s gone faster than Reid can grab him; Reid noticed the metal ring on his finger that curved and jagged in grotesque rivulets around a hexagonal gem. 

He gets back to Hotch who looks miles calmer and hands him his drink which he takes a generous gulp of. Reid is staring at his with wide eyes. 

“What?” Hotch questions. 

“Uh, Hotch,” he says, his face paling, “That guy, did you see him?” 

“I saw him, yes,” he huffs, looking semi-murderous, “He better have apologized to you.” 

“He’s the Unsub, and he slipped something in my drink.”

Hotch’s eyes are red again, quick as a light switch, and he knocks the glass out of Reid’s hand, spilling it all over the bar floor. “Hotch, what the heck!” 

“He— it— you—” He’s panting, “Fuck.” 

“That was evidence!” Reid hisses. He squares his jaw and stares Hotch down with a look made to kill. It’s far outside his comfort zone but he needs Hotch to know just how bad he screwed up. For all the crap that Hotch is talking about Omegas, Alphas and their bad tempers are just as detrimental. 

Reid is already looking into the sea of people behind them. “I’m going after him.” 

“Like hell you are! Get back here!” Hotch demands, trying to grab him as he darts to the side. 

Reid is long gone. He’s got a flash of adrenaline that he’s never experienced before and his brain is pumping it out to his body in generous amounts. He’s been through so many emotions today he feels he can take on anything. He spots the Unsub heading towards the bathrooms and he catches hold of his sleeve before he goes in. 

“Um—” He hasn’t thought this far ahead. He isn’t sure what to say. 

“Hey, you,” the Alpha says with a toothy smile, looking him down from head to toe. Reid shudders. “Back for more? Where’s that rutting Alpha of yours, huh?” 

“He’s… um. I left him by the bar,” he stutters out. He can see a glint coming from the Unsub’s pocket and he knows that’s where the drug is. If he could just reach over…

“Ditched him, did you? You come to your senses then?” He smirked. “I didn’t know what a little thing like you was doing with an Alpha like _that_ , anyway,” he spat, his eyes going dark, “He’d never take care of you the way you deserve. Feral fucking brute.”

“He’s— uh,” Reid steps back. On second thought, the Unsub is a bit scary. “He’s… yeah, you’re right. He nearly went feral right there in front of everyone.”

“He’s just going to break your sweet little heart, Omega.” He leans in, taking a whiff of Reid’s neck and groaning. “Smell so fresh.”

He’s so close… so very close. Reid slips his hand into his coat pocket, his fingers trembling with nerves, and grabs hold of a little metal cylinder. 

“ _Ah!_ ” He yelps, there’s a hand gripping his wrist and yanking him back. His heart is hammering in his chest- he’s about to be killed! Why did he think he could pickpocket a serial killer?!

“ _You_ stay back,” Hotch orders, and Reid is relieved to hear that voice for the first time. It’s Hotch’s hand grabbing him. Thank Gosh. “And _YOU_ , get your filthy hands off of him.”

The Unsub backs away, and Hotch takes a split second to assess how much damage was done to him. Reid is relatively unharmed, if not a bit shaken up, and his eyes go back to the Unsub who is turning on his heels and making a mad dash for the emergency exit. Reid watches as Hotch sprints after him, his hand already reaching down to his gun, and he follows behind. He trails the pair outside and down an alleyway, where hotch is standing there looking at a brick wall and muttering curses under his breath. 

“Where did he go?” Reid asks. 

Hotch is scratching the back of his head. “He ran down this way. It’s a dead end, look.” He motions towards the three walls enclosing the space. “I have no earthly idea.” 

. . . 

Laboratory results are back within hours. Hotch still hasn’t been able to screw his head back on and the nerves in his body are going haywire. He’s stress-cleaning his gun when Garcia calls him with the news. The prints are too smudged to be useful, not even a partial was obtained, and the drug inside is something that they’ve never seen before. The components are close to GHB, but there’s these compounds that they can’t identify and the information doesn’t lead anywhere. He’s drugging his victims, which sure, that’s news, but it doesn’t help. 

Reid comes out of the bathroom smelling crisp and sweet and fresh with his wet hair slicked back and his pajamas slightly clinging to his damp skin. He sees little fireworks behind his eyes and shakes them away. 

“You were reckless tonight, Reid. Don’t _ever_ do something like that again. You put yourself in jeopardy, you comprised this entire operation, and most importantly you may have aggravated the Unsub to the point of devolving; you have no idea what he’s capable of if he’s threatened.” Hotch is gripping the recoil spring in his hand with white knuckles. He breathes out through his nose in a huff and clicks the spring back in place on the gun. “I knew something like this would happen with you here.”

“Oh, please,” Reid says, looking at him with a hard stare. A very un-Omegan stare. No— scratch that. It’s _very_ Omegan. It’s demanding and hard and angry just like Reid is feeling. Reid; an Omega. It’s Omegan. 

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” 

“There’s no getting through to you, so why bother?” Reid sits down on the bed and looks at the magazine well in Hotch’s hand that he’s polishing. “You think you’d listen if I told you that he’s getting off on the fact that you defended me, Hotch? You wouldn't trust my judgment, anyway. Or the fact that he’s probably so obsessed with the thought of murdering you in front of me, and then taking me out for himself? Yeah, that was the whole point. You can take your overprotective Alpha-brain and coddle someone else because I’m just trying to do my job here. I don’t need you protecting me. Besides, I managed to grab the only solid piece of evidence we have _and_ we have a visual of him now. We know exactly what he looks like. Once we track him down, it’s all over. We’re so close.”

“Don’t protect you?” Hotch shouts, not caring if the people in the next room can hear, “Well then who’s going to do it, huh? While you’re recklessly endangering yourself? Who? Because you damn well can’t look after yourself.” He drops the bore to the bed, and gets up to his feet. “Look at you, Omega, you couldn’t even swat a damn fly. I could break you in half just by _looking_ at you.”

“Are you threatening me, Hotch?” Ried snorts.

“I’m not threatening you!” He yells, “But anyone _could_ , you’re like a sitting duck! And fine, I won’t coddle you! But God knows I should, because I don’t want the Omega to end up killed because no one was around to protect it.”

Reid furrows his brows and springs to his feet too. “I’m not an _it_.”

“You are if I say you are.” 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Reid spits, “I’m _not_ your Omega.” 

“God, I wish they never let you come here.” Hotch swears, and looks away towards the window. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, you’re the one that’s ridiculous. You only think in terms of brute force. What about analytics, observation, listening, hm? Think you can punch a puzzle to death? You think Alphas are the only ones with critical thinking, intuition? Doesn’t matter if I can’t strongarm an Unsub; I can understand one. I can figure one out, get inside their head, beat them to their next move before they’ve even thought of it.” 

“That’s not true, Omegas—” 

“Omegas, _what?_ ”

Hotch looks him in the eyes. “Their minds are full of pheromones and mating and _that’s it._ ”

“You’re vile. And you don’t even know the half of it! I’m willing to bet you don’t even know any Omegas other than me. When’s the last time you actually met one, huh?”

“I don’t have to. That’s the—” 

“Yeah, the Omega Crimes Unit’s job, sure. What about out of work?” 

Hotch doesn’t reply. He doesn’t go out of his way to interact with Omegas. He hasn’t seen one… Well, he can’t remember the last time. Why would he need to? That’s a ridiculous thought. 

“You’re so ignorant it’s almost funny.” Reid plops back down on the bed. He’s pulling a sweatshirt on overtop of his head and Hotch catches a glimpse of the smooth skin peeking out on his belly. 

“I’m not ignorant. I’m realistic.” 

“Sure.” 

Hotch is silent. 

“And you know what?” Reid looks at him curiously, “The greatest weapon we have is the ability to empathize. The Unsubs, they dehumanize their victims. You don’t need bulging muscles to hunt somebody. You just need to understand them.” He drops down and rests his head in the pillow. “Empathy. That’s an Omegan trait.”

. . . . . . 

Hotch rolls his eyes but there’s a kernel of truth lying in Reid’s words, as much as he hates to admit it.

Empathy _is_ important. 

He waits until Reid is asleep and then he calls Jack. 

He panics when he wakes up. He tosses Reid off of himself so fast. He’s up and out of bed, running to the bathroom before Reid even has the chance to open its eyes. 

Reid was curled up on its side with a smile and he almost bit him. He almost _bit_ Reid. Half asleep and a little bit dizzy headed, he nudged at its neck and licked it and his teeth were fucking _barred_ , Jesus. He almost bit Reid. 

He wanted to bite Ried. He still does. 

Thank God Reid was asleep. Reid is mouthy, hardheaded and insufferable and it would be a terrible Omega. Plus the whole biting unsuspecting Omegas is pretty Neanderthal, even for him. That sort of thing crosses a line. A huge, red, flashing line with neon signs and air horns.

He takes a cold shower. 

Reid ignores him for hours; that’s fine. Around noon it slams a paper down on the hotel desk that he’s working on. It’s an address. 

“Let’s go,” Reid says. Who is Reid to give orders?

“Where?”

“To see about the drug sample,” it replies.

“The sample was inconclusive.” Reid has its hand on the door knob. It might actually leave without him. There’s no way he’s letting Reid go out alone. 

“Okay, and? Ever heard of a second opinion?” 

“The FBI lab is the best in the country,” Hotch says, matter of factly. “There’s no need.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you later.” 

“Fine!” He barks, “I’m coming.” 

Reid is spouting directions to a lab just outside city limits. It’s telling Hotch about a scientist that it met while it was getting his phD in chemistry, Dr. Erwin. He’s a world renowned scientist and the name rings a bell even for him. He remembers reading something in the Times last year about a chemical that was created to kill off a specific species of algae. The algae was threatening the aquatic life of all the freshwater in the southern hemisphere and throwing the ecosystem all out of whack. It's all been cleared up now. 

The lab they pull up to looks more like a house than anything. Hotch supposes it’s a privately run company. That, or the Dr. is so wealthy he built a lab of his own. 

Reid rings the bell, and it looks excited. It explains that it hasn’t seen Dr. Erwin in over three years. Hotch’s chest feels sort of tight because he’s imagining Reid alone with all these different Alphas scientists, vulnerable and naive. 

He clenches his fists. 

They’re going to hand off the sample, and then Reid is leaving, no ifs, ands, or buts. 

But then the door opens and _Omega_ comes wafting out. 

Good, fine. He’s mated, then. That’s better. The Omega greets them and Hotch steps inside. It brings them down a long hallway and a flight of stairs to a secluded lab, but Dr. Erwin is nowhere in sight. 

“It’s so good to see you, Dr. Reid,” The Omega says, pulling Reid into a hug. They’re both smiling and Hotch feels awkward watching.

“Likewise.” Reid smiles. “This is Agent Hotchner, my colleague. We’re trying to figure out what this specimen is made of.” It pulls out an evidence bag.

“It’s good to meet you, Agent Hotchner,” It says, “I think I can help you with that.”

Hotch looks at it confused. “You? No, where’s Dr. Erwin?” 

“Sorry, what?” The Omega says, “I’m Dr. Erwin?” 

“No, you’re an Omega.” Hotch squints at it. 

“Yes.” Dr. Erwin looks over at Reid questionly. 

“I’m sorry…” Reid blushes. They seem to be having a silent conversation in front of him. _Omegas_. “He’s, uh, well, you know how some Alphas are,” he whispers, but Hotch can hear it.

Dr. Erwin nods its head solemnly. “Right. Well, let’s see the sample, shall we?”

Reid hands it over and Dr. Erwin starts preparing a sterile workstation.

“Wait a minute-” Hotch is still standing in the same spot, and the two look back at him. “You were in Time Magazine, I remember. That algae. You’re an Alpha. This is ridiculous, Omegas can’t—”

“Yes, yes. I know perfectly well what the Magazines say about me. But sometimes you have to play the game in order to win, don’t you? I’d never get the funding I need if… Well, you get the idea.” 

“That’s fraud,” Hotch barks. He feels trapped and uneasy and his worldview is shifting uncomfortably. Why was this Omega pretending to be Alpha? Who let it do that? 

“Yes, it is, my friend. Are you going to arrest me?” It smirks. 

“I—” 

“Come on, Hotch,” Reid says. It looks anxious, and it smells like nerves. Hotch has the urge to wrap it up in his arms and calm it down but he bites it back. “Play nice, please? I wanted you to come here and see… ” it gulps, “Meet another Omega. See things for how they really are. Open your eyes up a bit.” 

“My eyes are fine, Reid.” 

“Are they?” Reid is standing closer to him now, and Dr. Erwin has its eye pressed to a microscope, looking intently at the powder. “Cause from where I’m standing I don’t feel like you see me at all.”

Reid is frowning. It looks so much better happy. Hotch groans. Everything is so Omega down here it’s hard to concentrate. There’s Reid, and it’s wonderful smelling, all caramel apples and peppermint and soda pop, and then there’s Dr. Erwin and it’s pungently Omega too, but in a different sort of way. It’s definitely sweet and soft smelling, but Hotch doesn’t care much for it. It’s like cotton and grandma’s candies; it’s sweet but who cares? Strange. 

And fine, Hotch relents that Dr. Erwin is near genius and has ultimately changed the world, but these two Omegas are flukes. Kinks in the system. Outliers.

“I see you fine. You’re a genius. Omega genius. I got it. Every rule has an exception.” 

“I’m not the exception to the rule, Hotch.” Reid rubs its face with its hand. “And Dr. Erwin is far from the only Omega using a fake identity. The world is full of people like us. Heck, if you knew the underground system at play, your head would spin. There’s millions of Omegas that have to hide what they really are just to be professionally accepted. I got lucky that I don’t have to hide.” It looks Hotch right in the eyes. “And even then I have to deal with hard headed people like you.”

“I’m—” 

“Dr. Prandl, invented the centrifuge? Omega. Dr. Flemming, discovered penicillin? Omega. Shakespeare? Omega. That one’s kind of obvious. Dr. Bell, telephone? Omega. You want to know who found the drug that treats Meningitis, and Salmonella, or who designed wind turbines, or a million other things? Hotch, you just see in black and white.” 

Hotch is speechless for the first time since… ever. What does he say to something like that? Is that true? And if so… that’s _big_. That’s… well, that makes him think.

“I’m going to wait in the car,” He says. He doesn’t want to think. 

Things feel a bit shifty and his head hurts. He attributes it to all the Omega but even he himself knows that’s just an excuse. Dr. Erwin’s scent isn’t all that bad, and Reid’s doesn't make him want to rut anymore, he can control that, sort of. But his feet aren’t steady and he figures if he doesn't sit down he’ll pass out. 

Reid comes out two hours later and he’s got a folder tucked under his arm. He hugs Dr. Erwin again and he’s got a huge smile on his face. 

Hotch breathes a sigh of relief when he gets in the car. Reid’s scent is calming and he leans into it. 

“Hotch…?” Reid is trying to buckle his seatbelt. “We don’t need to act undercover, we’re well outside the killzone.” 

Hotch isn’t listening. He isn’t putting on a show. “I’m sorry, Reid,” he whispers. 

“Oh,” Reid says, “ _Oh!_ ...Really?” 

Embarrassment must be rolling off of him, but he can’t bring himself to stop it. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He feels earnest and honest. “Yes.”

Reid grins. 

“I mean it. I’m really sorry.” The last two hours in the car may have been the most profound in his entire life. He’s got this itchy vulnerability and rare feeling of helplessness that accompanies knowing you’re completely and utterly wrong, and have been for a while. “I just… I had no idea. None. There’s probably a lot I don’t know.” 

“I forgive you,” Reid says. He’s still smirking, but it’s not malicious and Hotch figures that he deserves it. “Now we have one more stop and then we’ll go find that Son of a Butt.”

. . . . . . 

A botanist is their next stop, another friend of Reid’s. No surprise now that he’s an Omega, and he’s able to provide them with all the information they need.

Reid is a badass and Hotch never noticed before. He’s noticing now that he isn’t trying to micromanage him at every turn, and he’s realizing that he’s been the one that’s thrown up obstacles every step of the way. 

Reid never did anything wrong. The rest of the team never objected, they never tried to throw him out. It was all him. _He_ was the problem. 

Dr. Erwin broke down the chemical components and by some special method that Hotch won’t even pretend to understand, derived that it came from a plant called Agiarluin and it’s found by river beds, identified by Dr. Sandell, the Botanist. 

There’s only one river in the kill zone, and Garcia works her magic to narrow it down to a list of 20 suspects. Hotch and Reid are able to identify him in seconds flat. That ugly face is etched so far into their memory they’re going to have to power wash it out. 

Prentiss and Rossi storm the back of the Unsub’s house while Morgan and Reid get the front. Hotch is going in through the garage and there's no way this asshole is getting out of this without metal around his wrists or a bullet in his chest. 

He’s in the basement when they find him. The first thing he does is focus all his attention on Reid like he’s the only person in the room, nevermind all the guns pointed right at him. 

“Omeeega,” he purrs, “I missed you. Did you miss me?” 

“... _Fuck you,_ ” Reid spits. Hotch doesn’t see any fear on his face. 

“Don’t be like that, sweet thing,” he grins. Red blood drips off his fingers; there’s a body on the floor that he was in the middle of hacking up. 

“Put your hands in the air,” Morgan shouts, “Now!”

He doesn’t move. He’s watching Reid. Hotch wants to barrel forward and kick him to the ground. He’s itching for it so bad. Reid looks soft and vulnerable but he _can’t_. He forces himself to look, _really look,_ and he notices the way Reid’s eyes are fierce and focused and that his hands are holding his gun steady, not wavering even a bit. He’s _not_ soft. Not at all.

Hotch backs up. Reid’s got it. 

Reid steps forward. The Unsub smiles. “Hands up,” He growls. The Unsub doesn’t move. Hotch doesn’t know whether he’s going to lunge forward and stab Reid, fling it and pierce him from a distance, or just put his hands up after all. He needs to let Reid make that call. 

Reid decides to shoot him in the leg and clock him on the side of the head with a sickening _crack_. He drops the knife and falls to the floor into the puddle of his victim’s blood. 

Morgan nods approvingly and Prentiss is calling into the radio for a medic. Hotch cuffs him while he’s down and notices that Reid’s left the room. 

Reid did a good job; he should’ve trusted him before. 

Hotch has been an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always!
> 
> Edited a little bit for tiny mistakes
> 
> I gotta work for the next three days soo next chap will be up after that


	4. Noh Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens and then the reader smiles

Reid is happy. He hasn’t stopped smiling since the case closed earlier in the afternoon. JJ is sitting by his side and the two of them share playful banter that the rest of the team doesn’t bother to try and understand. 

Reid feels good for having shot someone. In the leg, but still. 

The whole team is gathered in the recon room. They’re staying the night and flying out in the morning right around the crack of dawn. 

He winds down from a fit of laughter and rests his head on JJ’s shoulder. It’s a big sign of trust for him. 

“JJ?” He whispers. 

She looks down at him. “Hm?”

“I’m glad I met you. And the whole team. I think this was a good idea after all.”

“Awe, Spence, good!” she smiles, “You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“Mmh,” he nods. 

He staggers back up his room after and hops in the shower. He globs on his skincare routine and slides on his PJs feeling ready for bed. 

Hotch walks in when he’s already under the covers, tucked in like a bug. 

“Reid?” he asks, “Are you awake?” 

“Yeah, m’awake.”

“I could switch with JJ if you want.”

“Reid turns over in bed to face him at the door. “It’s okay. You can stay.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to step on your toes. It’s the last night, it doesn’t have to be you and me up here anymore.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Spencer scoffs, “You can stay.”

He smiles, however small. “Thanks. I’ll shower then.”

Hotch comes out smelling like fresh Alpha. Safey and warmth envelopes the room. He’s in sweatpants and a tee, and his hair is wet and darker than usual. He moves across the room with purpose like he always does. Reid watches as he lays there. 

It’s late, and Hotch gets on the phone. His voice comes out surprisingly warm and soft; he’s talking to a child. Reid vaguely knows that Hotch has a kid, but he’s never heard about him much. There’s long pauses where he’s listening, and then he begins reciting a story. It sounds like one he’s memorized and told a thousand times before. There’s a gruff voice for the villain and a soft adventurous voice for the hero. Reid supposes that if Hotch started with this image of himself, he wouldn’t garner as much fear and respect as he does, but it’s tempting to imagine what he’d be like if he always let himself care. 

Hotch hangs up and sighs. Reid is still eyeing him with interest. 

“How old is he?” 

The smile is enough to crinkle his eyes up at the corners. “Five.”

The television crackles on and Hotch is beside him watching intently. Sounds of sirens and guns fill the hotel room and Reid wonders how he hasn’t had enough of that in his day to day life, enough to watch COPS in his spare time? He doesn’t comment. 

Instead, he watches as a one-legged Alpha cop chases after a suspect. It’s actually pretty nice to get lost in when all the pressure is on someone else. Three episodes go by before Hotch reaches for the remote, shuts it off, and exits the room for a good ten minutes leaving Reid to fidget and wonder where he is. 

He comes back with a blanket in hand and tosses it to him. 

“What's this?” It’s nice and soft; he likes it very much. 

Hotch doesn’t look at him. Instead, he’s peeling his socks off and sliding under the covers. “You haven’t slept with any blankets all week. You keep kicking them off and waking me up. You hate them. That one’s better.”

“It is.” he rubs his thumb across the fabric. _Where did he find it?_ “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, I just wanted to sleep.”

“Still,” Reid says, this time with a smirk. 

He already kicked off the scratchy covers during the second episode of COPS. The soft one is wonderful and he ends up wrapped like a burrito. 

“Go to sleep, Reid.” 

He almost does. 

He lays there for an hour, then two, and everything is comfy and perfect for sleeping except for the fact that he keeps seeing the Unsub dropping like a fly in front of him on loop. 

_Bang._ A shot. _Thwap._ He’s hit. _Splat._ Down in a puddle of blood.

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Bang._

“Hotch?” 

“Mmh?”

“Are you awake?” 

“Clearly,” He says. It’s vaugley sarcastic. 

Silence drops. 

Hotch turns around. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nu uh,” he shakes his head into the pillow.

“The first shot is always the worst,” Hotch mumbles. There’s a story behind that, but Reid knows better than to ask. Besides, he’s got a story of his own now and it’s much more pressing. 

“How’d you know?” Is all he says.

“Everyone on the team has a night like this. Comes with the job. The first kill shot is even worse.”

Reid groans. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“And I’ll be there.” Hotch smiles. It’s reassuring and grounding, and the immediate vicinity smells like protection. Reid doesn’t doubt that he means what he says. 

“And now...?”

Hotch’s scent is getting stronger. It’s making the _Bang. Bang. Bang._ dull into a soft ache. “I’m here now too.”

“M’not weak,” Reid murmurs, “Just cause I’m an Omega. I’m not upset because I’m weak.”

He kind of wants to cry. 

Crying is healthy. It helps you express your emotions and it releases oxytocin and cortisol which decreases anxiety and stress in the body. 

“I know.” Hotch’s voice isn’t placating. “Like I said, we’ve all been there. I’ll tell you a secret: I cried the first time too.”

“I didn’t say I was going to cry,” Reid sniffs, “but… you did?” 

Hotch nods his head. Reid can hear it against the pillow. “I did.” 

A hot tear rolls down his cheek. “I just… felt so… he was right there…. I did that. I hurt him.”

“And he hurt many people. Innocent people. Would’ve killed more if you hadn’t done what you did.”

“I know,” Reid sniffles, wet and hot, “I know that man was a killer but I can’t stop thinking about the way it felt when my gun fired. And the relief. I shot a man and I just felt _relief._ Now I’m sad. I don’t know what to think...”

“Don’t think. Just let yourself feel. It’s all valid.” 

“I miss Ethan,” Spencer whines. He really does. He wants to tell him about everything that’s happened in the past week and hear what he thinks. He wants to tell him about going undercover and what it felt like to be scented, the way he swallowed down so much fear that he may have gained 10 pounds, the way he kissed his boss and saw fireworks, the _Bang._ of the gun, and the _Splat._ of the body. Or maybe not that last part, but he looks to his side and supposes that he has Hotch for that. 

Hotch doesn’t say anything about Ethan. Doesn’t even ask who that is, just smiles reassuringly, ready to listen. 

“S’my best friend,” Spencer mumbles. Hotch makes a sound like ‘ooh’.

”Can I…” He scoots forward. He feels like Hotch is practically pulling him closer the way he’s radiating stability. 

He doesn’t make him say the rest out loud, just outstretches his arm and lets him shuffle up against his shoulder. The relief is immediate. It begins in his chest, warming him up, and spreads throughout each of his limbs until he’s softly buzzing with positivity. The _Bang. Bang. Bang._ is all gone. Hotch just grunts and tightens his grip. Reid knows nothing bad will happen to him while he’s laying next to Hotch. He’s safe in his arms. He isn’t going to hurt him, rut on him, or push him away. He’s just there for him.

He inhales deep and sleeps.

. . . . . . 

Morning comes without asking. It brings with it sleepy, scratchy eyes and the harsh judgment of the daylight spilling in from between the curtains. Hotch can’t hide in the comforting darkness that he unleased his secrets in. Reid is laying on his arm looking perfect. He’s soft and sweet the way an Omega should be, but he’s hardened around the edges, too. Hotch finds that he doesn't mind it at all. He suspects all Omegas have a little bit of that and he was a tad too daft to look for it.

He’s an Alpha that has cried. Was he really so self involved that he thought he was still a picture perfect Alpha having cried while deeming an Omega unfit for showing any hint of strength at all? Or even worse, trying to squash it out of them. 

Hypocrite. 

He wants to pull Reid close and never let him go. He thinks about the kiss they shared. Memories warm his face and his body. Fireworks. Fast beating heart. Breath taken away. 

Reid stirs beside him and his eyes flutter open; his lashes are full and beautiful, and his skin is near glowing. It’s soft and smooth. He jerks back faster than Hotch can protest, not that he would. He’s done enough, said enough. He doesn’t want to sound like an overbearing Alpha anymore. Infact, he’s cringing at the memories of himself seething, yelling, and barking orders out to a blameless party. They’re mocking him.

He’s an ass, a biogot, and the worst of all, he thinks he’s in love. He thinks he’s in love and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

He watches Reid scramble out of bed and silently slip into the bathroom. They don’t talk about the night before. 

Boarding the jet back home feels spacey, like he’s both running on auto pilot and painfully aware of the present moment at the same time. Chilly wind is nipping at his nose as he waits in the whirring force of the engine. This time Hotch is barely aware of Reid’s sweet scent floating around in the air beyond the fact that it’s pleasing and calming and arousing in a way that’s farmilliar.

His eyes are droopy and the coffee doesn’t do much other than speed up his heart rate and warm up his hands, but it’s a welcome addition nonetheless. He stayed up so late last night with Reid that his nerves are frayed from exhaustion.

He straightens his tie and takes a seat by the window. Inside the jet, the air is still, but the commotion can still be heard outside in muffled tones. 

Reid sits beside him, not asking permission, but seeking approval. It doesn’t even cross his mind to throw Reid out the way it would have a week or two ago. Instead, he tries out a smile. It’s nothing in comparison to actually talking about the night they shared comforting each other, but it’s a branch nonetheless. 

Morgan and Prentiss smirk as they walk by. Serves him right for being an ass, but he’s always been able, albeit reluctantly, to admit his mistakes. 

JJ isn’t smirking; she’s wearing a scowl. 

The ride isn’t that long. Reid has his nose mashed in between the pages of a book for most of it. Everyone starts to get antsy when they feel the jet descending, slowly rocking in the turbulent air, their ears softly popping, and the feeling of pressure fluctuating in their chests.

“Debriefing is in the conference room in an hour,” Hotch announces to the group. It’s the last step of the process, and as much as he understands that everyone would like to get home to their friends and families, he can’t let them go without it, “After that, there will be a week's worth of leave.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Morgan beams. Hotch knows he’s itching to get his hands on something he can lift, throw or crush; anything that will expend a bit of energy. 

Personally, Hotch wants to get Jack in his arms. He misses the way he still smells like rubber ducks and dirty muddy hands the way only a child could. He wants to kiss his forehead and reassure him that he loves him.

The briefing is to the point. The reports are efficient and everything is neatly wrapped up within the hour. When Hotch leaves, parting from the team for the first time in over a week, he isn’t as relieved as he expects. 

Everything smells like Reid; his suits, his papers, even his skin. He didn’t remember being scented, hell no, that’d be something he’d take notice of, so it must just be the all the close approximation that left him soaking in Reid’s sweetness.

Even when he comes through the door and Jack runs up to his yelling, “Daddy’s home!” he’s got Reid lingering in the back of his mind. When he cooks dinner for the two of them and Jessica, he’s wondering if Reid likes spicy food, and when he’s tucking Jack into bed, he’s wondering if Reid is tucked into a bed of his own, and is anyone there with him?

And not only is he thinking that, there’s the whole other onslaught of thoughts that have come and crept out from the woodwork of his mind: Would Jack one day present as an Omega? What kind of other contributions have Omegas made that he’s never known about? Did one design his fridge, his blackberry, or the table he’s sitting at? Did an Omega figure out the chemical composition that made his Coca Cola taste so good, or the chemical that preserved his canned food so that it never went bad? Was the book he read to his son every night written by an Omega? 

There is _so_ much he doesn’t know. He’s a fool, but now he’s a fool that knows he is, and he doesn't have to be one forever. 

He opens his laptop and brings up Google. He won’t live in an Alpha-bubble.

. . . 

Weeks go by. It’s business as usual. Their break is short lived and Hotch finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun three times by the end of the month, but it just rolls off his shoulders.

It’s the kind of thing he was _made_ for. It’s the kind of thing that fills him with enough adrenaline and excitement to tide him over month after month all by himself. He spends his days off learning. It’s all he can do to shake the feeling of _Reid_ while he’s not busy chasing a killer. 

He finds that there’s so much to be discovered if you're actually looking. He thought he was a profiler before, but he didn’t know _anything_. There’s Omega everywhere. There’s Omega from the moment he wakes up to the second his head hits the pillow at night. They’re just people like him. He’s an Alpha; so what? Big and brawny doesn’t mean shit to a microscope. 

He checks his aggression at the door and shows up to an Omega sponsored volunteer group. It’s a way for young Omegas to meet with other Omegas in the community and learn what it all really means. It’s empowerment and skill building. It’s Alphas and Betas showing their support and lending a helping hand. It’s wholesome in the sort of way that Hotch didn’t know he was before. 

He spends the next three months showing up at the events whenever he has a free day, and he realizes that wholesome is not only something he wants, but something he needs. 

Most of his time taken up by talking to Omegas at the organization and just listening to their experiences. He learns about what they've gone through, and how much they’ve accomplished in spite of it. It makes him confront the fact that almost everything has been handed to him on a silver platter. He hasn’t needed to fight for much. College was a breeze, the academy, the FBI. All of them welcomed him with open arms. 

Hotch didn’t welcome Reid with open arms. He sneers at the memory of himself shooing him away for just being _himself,_ as if he in and of himself was something to be ashamed of. 

Reid should never be ashamed of who he is. Hotch should be. 

He buries himself in giving back to the people he’s mistreated as it would make all his nasty memories disappear. It won’t, but it might replace them with some better ones. 

Another thing Hotch learns is that of all the Omegas he meets, none of their scents have had quite the effect that Reid’s has. 

He thought Reid’s scent of sex and lust, peppermint, soda pop, and caramel apples, was just from being an Omega. He remembers what the _click_ felt like, smelling the scent of turning Reid’s key and opening him up. He remembers comparing an Omega’s scent to _viagra_ and cringes. He thought that he would rut for anyone of that kind, the way he lost control in his office, but _no._ They’re just people with different kinds of scents, albeit sweeter. It isn’t Omega that Hotch went feral for, it was Reid, just _Reid._

God, he was so wrong.

. . . . . . 

Reid stays over at Ethan’s house for a week straight on his break. They gather enough supplies to last a month and hunker down in his living room with Netflix and Disney Plus and they don’t intend on leaving the couch for anything.

Tears spill, sure, but Spencer expected that much. It’s therapeutic in a way that’s not entirely sad. Besides, Ethan’s weight is comforting against him. He lets Ethan cuddle him for the first time in _ever_ because he really needs it. Hotch left a hole somewhere inside of him and filling it with snacks, cheesy rom coms, and Ethan’s warm cuddles isn’t exactly cutting it, but it’s enough for now.

Instead of thinking about Hotch’s strong arms and his reassuring presence, he focuses on Ethan’s friendship. Cups of hot, steaming tea are sipped, clay masks are applied in spades, and just enough documentaries are slipped into the queue for Ethan not to get annoyed. (Relaxing can still be _educational,_ Ethan) 

He finally opens up and tells Ethan all about the kiss and the fireworks and the way he felt like every bad thing would slip away when Hotch held him. He swallows his pride and cries on his shoulder wishing for someone he would never have, and doesn’t even want to want. Ethan doesn’t tease. He doesn’t say ‘finally’, and he doesn’t ask questions. He just lets him cry. 

Emerging from their soft paradise is inevitable, but at least when they do so they have soft skin and calm nerves.

Cases and months fly by. He gets comfortable. The FBI isn’t that bad with a team like his. He shares a lot of looks with Hotch, but they never mean anything in the long run. Hotch is too old fashioned of an Alpha to ever be interested in him, despite how amazing the moments they shared were, and besides, he doesn’t want someone so biogited being his Alpha. (Not that he even offered)

No matter how comforting Hotch is, he isn’t the kind of Alpha that will see you for you. He’s that kind of Alpha that sees an _Omega_ , not a _Spencer._

Though Reid has to admit, he’s made leaps and bounds since his first month at the BAU, and there hasn’t been a single trace of bigotry since they went undercover. 

It takes a while for Reid to notice because he’s too wrapped up in his annoyance of how things were to realize how they are. Hotch doesn’t micromanage him on cases and he asks his opinion directly more than a few times. In fact, Spencer has become his go-to source for information. They bounce ideas off each other and work together like a well oiled machine.

Hotch makes remarks, too. He starts using names and pronouns like he or she instead of _it_. He brings up something an Omega has done that Reid knows he didn’t tell him about. It’s not a huge change, it’s entirely easy to miss, but it’s... huge.

He asks questions, too. They’re not personal or prying, they’re just seeking information. They’re asking about Dr. Erwin. They’re asking about who else he met at college. They’re asking about what other accomplishments Omegas have made, and he has the good sense not to look floored when he’s told the answer. (It’s more accepting, and a little bit of shame. He’s got wonder in his eyes when he talks about it)

Reid takes a leap of faith and invites him out to dinner with two friends of his; one graduated alongside him at Caltech, and the other was self taught but utterly brilliant. Hotch is polite and genuine in his interest all night. Reid is relieved that he doesn’t embarrass him with rutting or gross displays of power, but he hasn’t seen that from him in ages, and he almost trusts him now. 

Hotch is charmed by his friends. The changes in him are adding up and Reid hopes they’re permanent. With a bit of compassion he’s like a three dimensional person, not just the caricature of Alpha-aggression that he was before. It makes hope blossom in his chest, maybe…

_Gosh, maybe he would be a good Alpha._

Spencer goes home, immediately takes a hot bath with lavender epsom salt, and moisturizes his face with a mask. He’s got that itchy feeling again, the one from the bar, and he needs to calm down. 

He towel dries his hair and pulls his Minnie Mouse sweater on. He needs a good night’s sleep. 

Sleep doesn’t help. When he wakes up he’s still thinking about Hotch. He can almost smell him.

. . . 

The case they’re working is another one that shakes Reid up pretty badly. The unsub involved is in way over his head, a little bit lost, and beaten down by circumstance.

He reminds him of himself if he hadn’t gotten so lucky in life. He doesn’t want to see him cuffed and thrown into the back of a squad car, only to be locked away for the next twenty years. He doesn’t need punishment, he needs guidance. He’s an Alpha with more scars than he can count and he’s only lashing out because he's been pushed past his limits by a mile. 

Reid watches him get cuffed. He watches the squad car drive away. There’s nothing he can do. JJ is trying to tell him as much; she’s standing by his side and whispering words of comfort. Reid appreciates the sentiment but it isn't helping.

They’re set to leave in the morning, and Reid wants to take a long hot shower, put on his comfy clothes, and bury himself in bed. The shower is luke-warm at best, and he can’t find his sweater. There’s no sign of Minnie anywhere. He forgot to pack her. He’s panicking over a sweater, but he can’t help it; it's the straw that breaks the camel’s back. 

He’s had it up to here with this day and just wants this _one_ thing. 

JJ is frowning. There’s nothing she can do to help. She offers to let him cuddle up in her bed with her, but Reid doesn’t want to. He grabs his room key and flees. He doesn’t know where he’s going but his feet pull him forward until he’s knocking on a door. 

Hotch is on the other side with a confused smile, and Reid knows he was following his scent. He wants to be comforted. He wants Hotch’s strong arms around him and his musky Alpha smell making everything okay. He doesn’t want to ask, and he doesn’t have to. His eyes are watery red and Hotch lets him in without a word. 

Reid babbles on about his Minnie Mouse sweater and how he left it at home, and how everything about today is absolute trash. Hotch nods and agrees. He pulls him towards the bed and changes the blanket before letting him crawl in. Hotch is warm against him, his weight dipping the mattress down and reminding him that he’s there. 

Spencer mumbles incoherently with his eyes closed,“A- A-,” It’s the closest he’s ever been to letting go and letting himself feel protected. He’s vaguely aware that he almost uttered _Alpha_ out loud, but he has plenty of time to be ashamed and embarrassed later. Right now he’s so content he just wants to bask in Hotch.

His head is resting on his broad chest, and he’s got an arm and a leg slung overtop of him. Hotch has an arm snaked around his shoulders and he’s holding him so tight. Nothing could ever go wrong like this. 

“Thank you, Hotch,” he slurs. He’s drifting off into sleep.

“Anything you need, Reid.”

. . . . . . 

Hotch goes to the mall in the morning when he’s back in D.C. and buys a sweater. It’s not for him. He packs it into his go bag.

Spencer invites him to dinner again, another friend of his is coming, and he’s looking forward to it. Months ago he would have balked at the idea of an Omega taking the initiative to make plans, and even further having the audacity to invite him, but that seems like a lifetime ago. 

He shows up on time, in a suit not unlike the ones he wears for work, but this one is a classic light gray that he saves for social events. He forgoes a tie. 

Reid is already sitting at a table with his friend. He could smell Reid from the moment he walked in. Whenever they’re in the same room, Hotch feels like his is the only scent around. Everyone else’s falls to the wayside. 

He comes up to the table. 

“Hotch! There you are.” Reid is smiling and tucking hair behind his ear. “This is Ethan.”

Ethan is looking at him with his eyebrows raised and a little smirk skating on his lips. “Aaron,” He says. Hotch watches Reid’s head shoot to his friend. 

“Ethan, hey,” Hotch greets, “Good to see you.” He sits down at the only empty seat. 

“Wait, you two know each other...?” Reid looks like he’s been run over by a tractor trailer. 

Ethan has broken out into a full blown grin and he’s nodding. He’s got a secret and Hotch is trying not to laugh at how much joy Ethan is getting from withholding it. 

Reid holds a hand up to his grinning face. “Hotch! Explain.” 

Hotch doesn’t care about spoiling the fun. “We’re a part of the same volunteer group,” he says, ‘We met a few months ago. I’d say we're friends?” 

Ethan nods, happy. “Yep! This guy right here,” he nods at Hotch, “is super helpful and everyone at the Omegas Initiative Foundation adores him. Always brings top notch work to the table.” 

“Please, I hardly do a thing. And they tolerate me at best.” He thinks he might be blushing. 

Reid cuts in, voice high. “Wait— Omega? You’re volunteering for an _Omegan_ group? Why— when? What?” 

Hotch shifts in his chair; he doesn’t feel like making eye contact all of the sudden. Reid is excited and confused and he doesn’t want to admit how hard he’s been trying. 

“Well, yes.” That’s all he says, but no one else speaks, so he forges on, “After what happened back with Dr. Erwin…” he looks up to see Reid eyeing him intently, “The whole case, really. It got me thinking. I know I apologized for the way I acted, but I still don’t feel like it’s enough. I wanted to give back. Besides, I think it’s a good way to spread awareness. I had no clue before, you were right. If someone like me can turn a corner, then I have no doubt that we can help other people open their eyes too. Even if it’s just one person, I’ll feel like it’s worth it.”

A waitress sets their dishes down on the table but no one's paying attention. 

Reid’s jaw is hanging slack. He’s got scent pouring off him in bucketfuls and he’s so sweet. Hotch closes his eyes for a brief second to breathe it in before he realizes how inappropriate that is to do in front of Ethan. He’s done it in front of Reid before, and he knows he doesn’t mind. They have a sort of unspoken mutual understanding in terms of comfort. 

“That’s, wow.” Reid isn’t saying much. He’s looking back over at Ethan and the two have a silent conversation that Hotch can’t decipher, even as a profiler, and not that he’d do that to his friends anyway. 

“I didn’t know that.” Reid clears his throat. “That’s great. That’s really great. I’m, um, impressed. And… you know I’ve forgiven you. It’s in the past.” 

Reid’s face is red and he’s playing with his straw wrapper. Hotch wants to reach across the table and hold his hand steady, but he lets him fidget instead. That’s not his place. Only when Reid asks does he allow himself that much. 

They’re staring at each other for so long that Ethan waves his hands in front of their faces. “Hello? Earth to Spencer? Aaron? Am I the only one here right right now? I feel like a plastic bag just drifting in the wind...” he chuckles, “Spencer, what the heck, dude?” 

Spencer’s eyes uncloud and he snorts. “Oh, calm down attention hog.” He looks over at Hotch and whispers just loud enough, “Ethan is a huge dramaqueen.” 

Ethan gasps, “Spencer! Aaron, don’t you _dare_ tell anyone at OIF. If Rachel gets wind of something like that, I’m over. She’s got a mouth that would put Perez Hilton to shame. Don’t go spreading rumors, kay?” 

“Trust me, I have no interest in repeating that,” He chuckles. 

“Good.’ He sits back in his chair and finally eyes his lasagna. “Good, good.” He shovels up a bigger bite of noodles than he ought to and crams it in his mouth. “Ya’knoh, Spenseh.” He chews. “You goh a good ouhn here.”

Spencer drops his fork and it clatters on his plate. “I— I haven’t _got_ —” he turns toward Hotch, “I swear I didn’t imply— Oh, gosh. It’s not like that. I mean, there was the kiss—” he freezes, beet red, “I mean, _for work!_ It’s not— oh, I’m rambling. Someone stop me, please,” he groans. 

“Noh way,” Ethan says, grinning, “This is wayh too much fuhn.”

“Reid, please, it’s fine, you’re fine. I understand.” Hotch swallows. He’s finding it hard to think about anything except for that implication. 

Hotch must be giving off a scent, because Reid’s eyes are dilated and he’s sitting so quiet. Hotch thinks the same thing about Reid though because the room is suddenly a peppermint palace and he's as calm as he’s ever been. 

Hotch hardly remembers Ethan is present when he hears him giggling to the side, going on about something to Reid. “Can’t live with em, right Spence? Or maybe... ca—” 

“Can it, Eth!” Spencer hisses, “Just, be quiet!” 

Ethan is giggling into his nearly empty plate of lasagna. Hotch has never seen him so giddy before, but then again, he only sees him when they’re doing volunteer work and that isn’t exactly a riot. He wonders if Reid gets a goofy grin on his face, too, when he lets loose. 

“Well, well, boys. I can tell when I’m not wanted,” he says, standing up and winking at Hotch, “This should cover me.” He sets down a few bills. “I’m gonna take my car back. Aaron, you okay giving my man here a ride home?” 

“I— That’s fine, yes. I can,” Hotch sputters, “If that’s okay with you?” He turns his head to Reid. 

Reid nods slowly, glaring at Ethan but agreeing nonetheless, “Bye, see you never, E.” 

“It was great seeing you, Ethan,” Hotch laughs. He likes Ethan very much. 

“Reid—” Hotch says.

“Spencer,” he blushes, “Uh, call me Spencer?” 

“Spencer,” Hotch tries out on his lips, “Then, please, call me Aaron.” 

Spencer moves his lips, but he doesn’t actually say it out loud. Hotch feels a rush of excitement flow through him. 

“Spencer, I’m glad you invited me out tonight. Thank you.” He holds his eyes on Spencer’s amber ones and smiles slow. 

“I’m glad you came,” Spencer says, “I was thinking… maybe you’d like to do it again sometime... Just the two of us?” 

Aaron chuckles; it’s relief and nervousness squished together into one awkward ball. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

Reid is biting his lip, looking unsure of himself. It’s not a look he often sees on him. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” Aaron reaches across the table and lays his hand down, palm facing up. It’s inviting but not pushy. He wants Spencer to grab it and never let go. He’s full up on peppermint and soda pop and everything sweet and good, and Spencer _does_. His hand is warm and soft with little callouses lining his fingers and it’s endearing and adorable and manly, and he _loves_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eheh. One more chapter that includes an epilogue. Will post it in a couple days after work
> 
> edited bc italics goofed


	5. It Feels Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Okay, final chapter + an epilogue. Enjoy!

_“I’m glad you came,” Spencer says, “I was thinking… maybe you’d like to do it again sometime... Just the two of us?”_

_Aaron chuckles; it’s relief and nervousness squished together into one awkward ball. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”_

_Reid is biting his lip, looking unsure of himself. It’s not a look he often sees on him. “Are you sure?”_

_“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” Aaron reaches across the table and lays his hand down, palm facing up. It’s inviting but not pushy. He wants Spencer to grab it and never let go. He’s full up on peppermint and soda pop and everything sweet and good, and Spencer does. His hand is warm and soft with little callouses lining his fingers and it’s endearing and adorable and manly, and he loves it._

. . .

He holds on tight. Spencer squeezes right back, and his scent rolls off him in ample waves. It’s all for him. Spencer is doing that for _him_ , and he doesn’t deserve it, but he won’t tell Spencer his judgement is bad, because it’s not. If Spencer wants him, then he’s going to appreciate it for everything it’s worth.

They finish up their meal and Aaron drives him back to his apartment. It’s hard to focus on traffic laws when the epitome of everything he’s ever wanted is sitting in his passenger seat, but he gets them there safely.

He walks him up to his door and pulls him into a bear hug. Spencer’s arms go around his neck, and he holds tightly around his waist. If he stood a little higher, he’d lift him right off the ground. Spencer is nuzzling right into his neck and he’ll admit it, he keens. He’s got heart eyes and butterflies raging in his stomach. Emotion is overwhelming him. He could cry if he let himself.

He nudges Spencer’s hair away from his neck with his nose and nuzzles right into his scent gland like it’s the last drop of water in the desert. He hugs tighter. He feels weightless, carefree, pure and whole. His heart is swollen and warm in a beautiful way.

“Spencer,” he moans into his skin, “I never told you how much I adore your scent. I’ve never smelled anything like it, _never._ About how harsh I was before, I’m sorry. I liked it too much- I know what I said, but it isn’t true, never was. I can’t even describe how amazing–” he trails off.

“Spence? Are you-?” Aaron pulls back. “Oh, Spence, is that a good cry?” He wants to kick himself for saying something wrong, he just needs to figure out what it was.

Spencer nods. “Mhm. S’good. Just happy.”

“Thank God. So am I... I’ve never been happier.” The wetness on Spencer’s cheeks glistens in the light of the streetlamps and he reaches out to wipe it. He gives a little laugh and leans into it.

“Wanna come inside for a bit?”

Aaron looks towards his car. He thinks he should leave, not rush it, but he really wants to take that offer up.

“No funny business, promise!” Spencer beams.

Aaron nods and gives in.

He follows Spencer inside. His apartment is all warm colors and books lining every surface. There’s picture frames all over the walls with newspaper articles and hyperrealistic paintings. Hotch doesn’t know what he expected from Spencer’s apartment, maybe something a bit more studious and modern, but this hap-hazard explosion of information and textures seems like the obvious choice now. It fits him, and his brain is probably never lacking for stimulation.

More than anything else though, Aaron can’t keep his eyes off Spencer’s smile or his relaxed, inviting posture. He lets him lead the way into the living room and sits next to him on the couch with some distance. Spencer doesn't seem to like that so much, because he keeps inching closer and closer until he’s pressed up against his side, wiggling under his arm.

They’re _so_ close. Aaron feels protective and happy, like the only person in the world that matters his right there in his arms and he needs to do everything in his power to make sure he’s safe. His head is spinning with serotonin, and he wants to let Spencer know exactly how he feels, but as he looks down at him, he’s acutely aware that Spencer feels the exact same way, because there’s no way that _those eyes_ aren’t completely gone with love.

And there’s no other way to describe it. Aaron hasn’t felt this strongly about someone since he had Jack, and that’s paternal. With Spencer, no one has ever come close. It’s like opening up presents on Christmas for the first time. It’s wondrous excitement. Spencer’s scent has always been _so painfully_ his mate’s scent, he just wishes he could have seen it sooner.

At the same time, he knows that he had a lot of work to do before getting here.

Spencer deserves the best; respect, honesty, loyalty. Aaron will give everything to him and more, he knows it, and he’s finally a good enough man to do it.

He leans down just barely; he’s asking for a kiss. Spencer is smiling so bright that Aaron can’t help but smile himself before licking his lips and pressing the most delicate kiss he’s ever had onto him. It seems fitting.

When they part, it’s just a fraction of an inch and their foreheads are resting against each other. It’s warm. It’s coming home after a long trip, and snuggling up with a hot cup of tea on a cold day. It’s Spencer and he’s so beautiful. He smells like acceptance, affection, and the promise of so much more.

He pulls him even closer and sighs, lets himself drink in the sweetness that he is. He’s love-drunk off it. He wants to be so close that he’d prefer if they were molded together. He wants everything and more, he wants to _give_ everything and more.

“Spencer…” he whispers thickly.

Spencer is half-lidded and looking up at him with gorgeous eyes. “Alpha.”

Aaron stills. “Spencer, you don’t have to–“

He slides his hand up his chest, looking earnest. “It’s not a dirty word, Aaron.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to–“

“I _want_ to,” he whispers, “Alpha, we fit.”

“We do,” Aaron whispers right back. “Fit together equally. Mine, yours, each other's...”

“Alpha,” he repeats. He’s looking at him searchingly. He _wants_ it. He wants to hear it.

Aaron concedes with a thick voice, “Omega.” He’ll give Spencer anything. Spencer’s smile spreads across his face wide and excited. Hotch wants to see that smile for the rest of his life.

He pulls him into a passionate kiss, sending scent flying around the room in the process. The air is thick with emotion. They pull back with wet, reddened lips and smiles.

“M’sleepy, Aaron,” Spencer mumbles, “Take me to bed? No funny business, I promised.”

“Anything,” Aaron whispers. He picks him up off the couch and carries him into the bedroom. He knows Spencer is being cheeky; he can walk perfectly well. There’s a glimmer in his eye, though, that Aaron can’t help but entertain, and the feeling of his body heat in his arms isn’t that bad either.

It feels right.

When he sets him down, Spencer’s hand snakes out and grabs him.

“Stay?” he asks, “Please?”

Aaron doesn’t hesitate climbing in bed beside him and pulling him up close to his chest. It’s just like their first night pressed up together, warm and secure, except now it’s a million times better. Spencer’s giving off these amazingly delicious scents of certainty and happiness, arousal and adoration. Aaron feels happy and sleepy beside him, wanting to close his eyes and fall into it; it’s mesmerizing.

“When I came home I didn’t like sleeping without you,” Spencer whispers into his chest, “I didn’t like not smelling you. Felt wrong.”

Aaron strokes his thumb along his upper arm. “I felt the same way, Spence. I missed you. I missed your smell, everything about you.”

Spencer smiles into his shirt.

“I hardly knew what to do without you, Spence. You’re sweet, intelligent, brave, and you’re incredibly thoughtful. You’re twice the man I am and you’ve made me a better person. I can’t imagine a life without you.”

“You think I’m sweet?” he teases.

Aaron chuckles, “sweet as pie.”

“You’re a big softie.”

“I’m your softie, Omega.”

“Mmmh,” Spencer moans. He’s running his hands through Aaron’s hair and rubbing his face up against his chest. Aaron closes his eyes and lets him touch. He feels tingly and wanted and safe.

“G’night, Alpha,” he whispers.

Aaron tightens his grip on him and places a kiss on his forehead, “Goodnight, love.”

. . . . . .

His bed has never felt better, _never_. He wakes up feeling like a new man and it’s not the new vanilla scented air freshener that he has plugged into the wall or the soft silky feel of his favorite comforter against his skin. It’s the man laying beside him, breathing deep and heavy. His mate.

Well, not yet, but he’s got high hopes for the future. Besides, Aaron screams loyalty and last night screamed commitment.

He thinks it’s safe to assume that Aaron is _his._

So he doesn’t jump up from the bed this time; he closes his eyes and lets himself soak in the moment. His Alpha’s scent (he never thought he’d be saying that) is surrounding him, his touch warming him. The rise and fall of his chest is steady as he sleeps. It’s beautiful, and it’s like he was waiting for this exact moment his entire life.

He’s complete.

He never wants to spend another day not smelling the distinct scent of redwood trees, it’s serene and sparse, all nature and stillness, the faint hint of gunpowder that always lingers in the background, whispering sweet words of protection, and the soft, warm crinkle of fresh printed newspaper; everything Aaron is and feels and wants, all his emotions, his desires, his principles. Aaron. He can’t stand one more day without him.

Can’t, won’t.

An hour passes with Spencer just relaxing against his Alpha before his eyes flutter open and his lips turn up in a satisfied smile. “Spencer,” he says with sleep lining his voice, and it's beautiful and handsome.

“Hi, Aaron.”

“Good, so I didn’t dream last night. Seemed too good to be true.”

“Nope,” Spencer trails his hand along Aaron’s arm, “Not a dream. Just a really, really good night.”

“Are you having any regrets?” he whisperers, almost afraid.

Spencer tilts his head up so he can look him in the eyes. “Absolutely not.”

He smiles. “Me neither.”

“Perfect.”

Aaron yawns, “Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

“In a sec. I just wanna lie here for another minute.”

Aaron nods and nuzzles his face against the top of his head in reply. After Spencer is satisfied, they get up and put on a pot to wake themselves up.

Aaron is leaning against the counter and Spencer eyes him curiously. “You know, I’d offer you a change of clothes, but I don't think you’d fit.”

That earns him a laugh. “I have my go-bag in my car if you don’t mind me staying for a while.”

“Don’t mind? I prefer it,” Spencer blushes, laughing, “You’re not going to get away from me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Aaron says, coming closer and pressing a kiss to his lips before making his way out of the apartment.

Spencer grabs his two favorite mugs and fills them up with coffee while he waits for Aaron. Everything is turning out so much more perfect than he’d ever imagined. He has a great, intellectual and stimulating job, supportive coworkers, loving friends, and… a humble, handsome, and powerful alpha.

God, he’s so lucky.

When Aaron comes back he sets his go-bag on the table, rifling through it and picking out a tee shirt and khakis. He kisses him again before slipping into the bedroom and getting changed.

Spencer takes another sip of his coffee, closing his eyes and moaning when his eyes shoot open– What is—?

He grabs a soft little pink piece of fabric sticking out of Aaron’s bag. Pink? Why does Aaron have…

He pulls it out.

It’s a Minnie Mouse sweater.

She’s not the same as his at home (her bow has polka dots) but oh, Gosh, he’s got a _Minnie Mouse sweater._

There’s a surprised noise from the doorway of the bedroom. “Oh–”

“Aaron.” Spencer turns around, holding the sweater bunched up to his face like it might suddenly disappear. “What’s this?”

“Well, I know you like Disney, and you forgot to pack yours last case, and I–”

“I love you,” Spencer blurts, “I do, I love you.”

“You’re not…? I didn’t… cross a line?”

“Gosh, no. This is… _so_ thoughtful. Thank you.”

Aaron is blushing and looking at him soft and sincere. It’s picture perfect.

“I love you, too, Spence,” Aaron bites his lip, “Before I even knew it myself.”

“C’mere.” Spencer holds out his hand, and Aaron comes forward to take it. He guides him into the bedroom and shuts the door behind them.

Spencer has to drag him to the bed and push him down but he doesn’t mind; Aaron looks delightful when he’s flustered. He bends down and takes Aaron’s face in his hand, his stubble pricking at his fingers, and moves his lips against his. The kiss is open and inviting, their tongues swirling together. Aaron is moaning, practically rumbling, his Alpha instincts growing heavy with the mood, Spencer can tell.

He starts getting handsy, that’s one indication, and a subtle assertiveness starts creeping up even more evident than the pink creeping up Spencer’s ears. He pulls Spencer down on his lap, he’s got both of Spencer’s thighs pressed up on either side of him, which makes Spencer glad he only chose to wear boxers this morning.

His cock is swelling and leaking underneath them and it’s as plain as day. He rolls his hips against Aaron’s groin and tips his head forward on his shoulder, moaning softly. He loves the feeling. He’s never felt anything so pure and primal, so thrilling. He wants to keep rubbing and rubbing against the man who makes him feel like the only Omega in the world. He’ll keep going until he melts in his arms.

In a quick movement, Spencer is thrown onto his back as Aaron grabs his bottom and twirls them over. When he looks up all he sees is his Alpha towering over him, his broad shoulders, his dark eyes. He feels small and needy underneath him, and that’s perfectly okay. He likes the way his Alpha makes him want to open up and _give_ ; to surrender, to trust, to love, to be protected. He wants all of it. He doesn’t feel bad for being Omega and wanting what an Omega wants.

Aaron seems to understand, too, because he’s pushing his arms underneath his back and pulling him close up against this chest. He’s saying _I’ve got you._ There’s a thick wave of Alpha that makes him dizzy and feel a wetness in his boxers that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

Spencer wraps his legs around Aaron’s waist and pushes his hips up, grinding again, trying to satiate the hunger growing inside. It’s all hot breaths and desire between them. Spencer’s whining now, he knows what he wants, and he needs Aaron to give it to him.

Aaron’s doing no better; he’s spiking a temperature, his pulse is racing, his mind is whizzing with explicit thoughts of possession, and protection, and hot sweaty bodies. He’s got Spencer’s scent throwing him through a ring of fire and he’s burnt to a crisp. It’s that first day all over again. Spencer’s scent is so strong and aroused that he can’t hold himself back. Spencer doesn’t want him to. He tells him as much, even. He’s moaning and whining and he’s hot up against Aaron’s ear detailing all the dirty things he wants Aaron to do to him, how he wants Aaron to take him; let go, let loose, give in.

Spencer’s already given in. He’s got eyes tinted amber, it’s Omega as anything. He’s heated up, wanting. He’s so aroused he’s kicked himself into an early heat and he couldn’t be more pleased. He hasn’t had a proper heat in ages, he always winds himself down with cold showers and boring books, and he sure as heck doesn’t stuff himself full of hard, swollen Alpha.

Aaron pulls his tee over top of him, and his thin, muscular chest is soaked in sweat underneath. Aaron lets a devious grin devour his face as his red eyes wander over him.

Next he’s sitting up on his knees and peeling off Spencer’s boxers in a quick motion, bringing them up to his nose and taking a strong breath of his slick. He watches Aaron’s eyes roll back in his head and hears an arousingly powerful growl.

Aaron nearly dives down between his legs, grabbibing his thighs, and shoving his face right up against his hole. It’s slimy tongue lapping at him, his nerves going haywire, pleasure zinging up his spine. His feet are wiggling and his hands are gripping at the bedsheets. There’s nose pressed up against his balls, rhythmic tongue pulsing in and out of him, and hot, wet breaths humid against his skin. It’s so wet and sticky but it feels like heaven is leaking and sending golden droplets down on him.

The growling against him is heart stopping, even, the reverberation flows through him and sends him reeling. He hardly notices as Aaron climbs back up and starts sucking and kissing at his collar bone, or taking his thighs firmly in his hands and pressing them back against his stomach. He’s always been flexible. He’s stretched back, legs wide, with Aaron’s hungry eyes staring at him and he looks ravenous.

“Alpha! Oh, Aaron, please—“

He’s so desperate, _begging_. He wants it, he _needs_ it. He’s never felt such a strong pull to fill his needy little hole with something _big_ and potent.

“Please, _please!_ Aaron— now, please, in, in, in!”

He gets what he wants. Aaron gives him everything. Even just the tips stretches him so wide, wider than he’s ever been, and he careens his neck back in a final act of submission. Aaron doesn’t miss a beat, either, he licks up Spencer’s neck as he pushes in, stretches, explores every inch of Spencer that he can.

“Love you, Spencer, fuck, love you, I love you, I love—” he’s chanting, completely gone. His hips are working on autopilot.

Every thrust elicits a carnal moan from Spencer. He’s shaking and rocking with Aaron’s rhythm. He’s got one hand on the headboard and the other inbetween Aaron’s sweaty shoulder blades. He can feel the powerful muscles moving under his skin.

“Alpha!”

Spencer’s trapped inside a redwood Forest and he can’t find civilization, doesn’t want to. It’s beautiful, it’s nature, it’s so _Aaron_. It’s primal and pure, but there’s also danger lurking in the background, it’s so soft, just a hint. It’s stingy gunpowder, it makes his heart race and mind spin. He loves the way Aaron encapsulates him, protects him, takes care of him.

He’s complete in his arms, complete with his hole filled to the brim with big Alpha cock, and it’s only getting bigger as his knot swells. He’s filled up so much he feels like he might burst from the pressure. It’s scratching an itch he didn’t know he had, a deep seated one and it’s so satisfying. Aaron is _in_ him, between him, so, so close to him. Everything is _Aaron._ Everything is _Alpha._

He starts whimpering and begging, barely coherent of what he’s saying. He’s flushed red and breathing heavy. Aaron is hitting a spot that makes him cry out like he’s tasting sugar for the first time and all his neurons are forming new pathways.

“A-Aaron!” He cries; he’s cumming. His first Alpha made orgasm and it’s during a heat that he sparked out of his own frenzied arousal. It’s perfect and absolutely incomparable to anything he’s ever experienced. He’s flailing and restless, “Bite me, Alpha! Aaron, please, please, take me, bite me!”

His orgasm gets _better_ as searing pain spikes through his shoulder and he feels a damn burst inside him. Golden waves flow through his body and he’s shining from the inside out. It’s redwood trees and soda pop, and he feels like a lock inside of his chest is opening up with a _click_ that he feels deep in his bones. Aaron is so _obviously_ the key. He can’t believe he never saw it before. It’s amazing, and natural, and he’s always going to feel this completion; he knows it. He’s found his mate, he’s got him. They’re one, they’re entwined. Their gold is flowing together and the current is _strong._

He cums again, even, right on top of the first, and sinks into the mattress with a boneless body. He feels Aaron’s cock quiver and a rush of warmness swell inside him. He’s got Aaron’s arms holding him tight and his weight pressing down on top of him. It’s calming. He’s so safe and content he could die. He’s covered in sweat, slick, cum, and tears. Something about his overwhelmed sense of belonging made him want to bawl his eyes out in the best way possible.

“Omega, Spencer, sweetheart,” Aaron cooes. He’s whispering sweet everythings into his ear and it’s the best string of words he’s ever heard. He smiles dopey and happy.

They stay like that for a while, it could have been minutes, or hours, just breathing and winding down until Aaron has reduced his knot enough to pull out, and then Spencer is whimpering at the loss. Aaron’s cock was better than he imagined and he's barely willing to part from it for even a second now, but he can feel His Alpha’s cum is swimming around inside of him and it’s very satisfying.

Aaron pulls him up to his chest and strokes his back with a steady hand. He traces from the base of his neck down to the dip at the bottom of his spine and back up again until he’s calm and quiet.

“Spencer…” he whispers, “I love you. So much, my Omega. You’re my everything.”

“I love you too, Aaron.”

Aaron leans down and kisses his forehead.

“I’m going to give you the world.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

**♥ Epilogue ♥**

. . . . . . . . . . . .

_Four years later_

“Aaron, it’s okay! Put down the phone, you are _not_ calling her another time!”

“I need to make sure–”

“You made sure. She’s got it, they're fine! Everything is fine, come here,” Spencer says, letting his voice drop an octave, and extending his arms in invitation, “How are you still like this?” he chuckles, “We’ve been on a million cases since the twins were born.”

“I worry,” he huffs.

“Jess is more than capable of caring for a couple of toddlers. If anything, she’s the one that's going to need checking up on. Besides,” Spencer leans back and squeezes Aaron’s hand, “They’ve got their big brother there to protect them. Jack would never let anything happen to them.”

Aaron takes a breath, looking considerably more calm after being in his Omega’s arms. “I know, I know.”

The case lasts a few days and Reid ends up saving an innocent woman taken hostage by the Unsub, but unfortunately the Unsub commits suicide by cop, and is left bleeding out with a chest full of bullets. Reid still hasn’t quite gotten used to shooting at another human being, no matter how evil they may be. The act in and of itself makes his mind shudder.

He still wouldn’t change his job for the world, though. For every nasty bullet, there’s an innocent life saved, a family relieved, and a future made brighter. He can live with that.

He rests his head on JJ’s shoulder as they fly back in the jet. It feels like home and family inside the cabin. It’s everyone that’s been there for him over the past few years. It’s everyone he would give his life for; everyone he trusts beyond a shadow of a doubt.

She whispers to him as he tries to keep his eyes open, telling him stories of things that Henry did with Will over the weekend that they were apart, and he can’t help but think about his own sweet kids, his sleepy eyes drifting over to his lover sitting across the aisle, and how much his life has changed. He has everything he’s ever wanted.

Aaron spends extra time at the office when they get back to D.C. so Spencer goes home without him. Hushed whispers at the door make his heart soar. He turns his key and lets himself inside to a pair of excited little kids but before he can take a step they’re clinging onto his pants and begging for hugs.

Who’s he to say no to a hug?

He scoops up his little pups and holds them tight, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads and asking if they were good for their Aunt Jess while he and Dad were away. Both nod yes over and over, but he isn’t so sure. The two are known to get into trouble. (Definitely Ethan’s influence) Or at least Jane is, anyway.

“Daddy! Look what I made!” Jane shouts. She hops down out of his grasp and scurries from the room, rambling on about what she saw at the park the other day.

Spencer follows her into the kitchen. “And what about you, little man, did you have fun with Aunt Jess?”

“Mhm,” Jeremy nods with wide eyes and a cute little smile, “We had fun!”

“Daddy! Daddy, look!”

“Wow, beautiful. You made this all by yourself?” he reaches out and takes a pinecone with twigs, glitter, and pipecleaners sticking out of it in his free hand. It looks like an ugly little monster. “So cool, honey! What do you call it?”

“S’a bug! S’got 12 legs!”

“Here, you take him back and put him somewhere safe.”

“Daddy?” Jeremy whispers from on his hip, “I missed you, Daddy.”

“Aw, Jerbear. I’m here now,” Spencer coos, hugging him close, and sending his scent up in the room. Jeremy smiles all dopey and looks happy.

“Can we watch Scooby Doo before bed?”

“Of course we can.” Spencer kisses his head. “But Dad’s going to be home soon so we’re going to make dinner first. Wanna help?”

Jane cuts in, jumping up and down on the floor, practically panting with excitement, “I wanna help! I’ll help! I cook!”

“Okay, J.” Spencer laughs, taking her hand and leading them into the kitchen. Jeremy lays his head against his shoulder and he takes his silence as an agreement to help. Meanwhile, Jess comes out of the bedroom and smiles at them. “Hey, Jess! I missed you. Where’s Jack?”

“Spencer, hey! You know him, he’s got his eyes glued to the gamecube. How was your case? Aaron here too?” Jess beams at him. They’d become close over the past few years; she’s a really sweet Beta and cares about the kids as if they’re her own.

“He’s still at the Breau. Strauss had something to go over with him, I don’t think he’ll be too long though,” he says, “But the case was okay. The usual, you know. Got the bad guy.” He winks down at Jane who is watching them talk. “How were the kids, they give you a hard time?”

“Oh, no. Perfect little angels, as usual,” she laughs, “Jer was having a bit of a rough time without you, though.”

“Awe, bud,” he hugs him tighter, “You gotta be my brave little man while I’m away.”

“M’brave, I didn’t cry,” Jeremy says, looking his Daddy square in the eye.

“Daddy would still love you if he cried, though, tough man,” he winks, and sets him down on the counter, “Here, you hold this bowl. You’re going to be in charge of mixing. Jane, c’mere, you’re going to help me measure the ingredients, honey.”

Jane pokes her head out of a cabinet, and bumps it on the top, “Yay!”

. . .

Jess leaves halfway through making dinner to go home to her own family. Spencer almost doesn't notice because he’s so busy trying to keep Jane from dumping the entire container of paprika into Jeremy’s bowl, but he manages a wave and a grateful smile.

The chicken comes out of the oven smelling spicy and tasty just in time for Hotch and the four of them sit down at the table together. It isn’t an everyday occurrence but when they can all be together in the same place at the same time, it’s a good day.

Jack badgers his dad with as many questions about the case as he can get away with before Aaron shuts it down and wont answer any more. There are some things he doesn’t need to know.

The twins are ecstatic to see their Dad as always, hugging him with messy hands and chattering on about what they did while he was off fighting bad guys.

Jack is long gone from the table by the time that Spencer successfully bribes Jane and Jeremy to eat their vegetables, and by that time they only have room for one episode of Scooby-Doo before bed, but they made it work. The two cuddle up next to each other and giggle at the screen for a half hour before they start getting sleepy.

Spencer picks up Jeremy, and Aaron picks up Jane, and they carry them into their room and tuck them into bed.

The moon is out and shining by the time Spencer has a moment alone with Aaron; he’s grateful whatever he gets these days with his schedule so full of play dates, soccer games, and serial killers.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Aaron says.

Spencer gets close, unable to resist. Doesn't matter that they’d just been together for days on end and only separated for an hour or two at most. Aaron is magnetic.

“What’s that?” He hums, “Something to do with Strauss?”

Aaron takes his hand and kisses it. “How do you always know everything?”

Spencer grins, “It’s my superpower, you know that.”

Aaron backs him up against the kitchen counter and hoists him up on top. He’s light and he loves the way that Aaron handles him so effortlessly.

“She’s retiring.”

“Oh, what a shame,” he chuckles, then pauses, “—oh!”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, wow. Wow. Oh, wow.”

Aaron is rubbing the palms of his hands and looking up at him. “What do you think? Should I take it? The hours will be better. It’ll be safer. The kids will have more consistency. We won’t have to feel like we’re taking advantage of Jess so much. I won’t miss them all the time….” he blushes.

“That’s certainly a strong case.”

“We’ll be apart more, though,” Aaron says, looking guilty.

“No! You should do it. You should definitely do it.”

“I’m not sure…. what if I miss it? This? What we have now?”

“Oh, we definitely will. But I think you’re ready for something new,” Spencer smiles, “and I see the way you dread leaving on each case. I think it could be good for you. And the kids. I think you should consider it at least.”

“I will,” he smiles.

Spencer kisses him lightly on the lips. “Who would be taking over for you?”

“I’m thinking Prentiss.”

He grins. “Good choice.”

"And we're brining on another agent... A Beta." Aaron smiles. 

"Yes!" Spencer's eyes light up. "What's that, 6 now in the Bureau? Progress." 

“So you’d be okay? If I decide to go through with it?” Aaron is looking at him again with earnest eyes and he can’t refuse them. Doesn’t want to, really. He was made to comfort his lover.

“More than okay with it.” He clears his throat and clutches Aaron's hand in both of his. “Actually… it would be kind of perfect…. because I wanted to ask you... if we could try again.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow. “Try what again?”

Reid is blushing, he has to spell it out. “I want another baby?”

“ _Oh!_ try for another–” he breathes out slow, “Yes. Yes, let’s do it, yes. Another baby, wow.”

“Yes to the baby or yes to taking Strauss’s job?”

Hotch laughs, eyes crinkling, “Both.”

Spencer grins cheek to cheek; he can’t help it. He’s got the best mate, husband, lover, Alpha, _everything_ that a man could ask for.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fucking lol at the ending picture. idc what anyone says I love it


End file.
